Harry Potter: The Last Avatar
by The Sorting Cat
Summary: Why is Harry Potter considered the worst firebender in Gryffindor? Why doesn't he want to be noticed? Probably the same reason he dreams of drowning every night. [Harry Potter characters in an AU with magic replaced by the elemental powers of Avatar: The Last Airbender / Legend of Korra. Full summary inside.]
1. Happy Birthday, Harry Potter

******Author's Note**

**This story takes place in an AU where I've replaced the magic of Harry Potter with the elemental bending powers of Avatar: The Last Airbender. You don't have to be familiar with Avatar to keep up; what you need to know is that along with regular folk there are some people who can manipulate one of the four elements - water, fire, air or earth - and that only ****one person in the world, the Avatar, can control all four elements. **When the Avatar dies he or she is reincarnated, and the previous two Avatars were Aang, from 'The Last Airbender', and Korra, from 'Legend of Korra'. **No new Avatar has emerged after the death of Korra.**  


**The world itself is a fusion - b****asically I've put Hogwarts in the world of Avatar, as a prestigious school for all four types of bending, but I've otherwise kept the Avatar canon more or less intact. The four houses of Hogwarts are for the four elements, as you might imagine. ********The story takes place a hundred years or so after the birth of Korra, during Harry's** fourth year at Hogwarts, and a lot of the central cast from the Harry Potter books will appear. Due to the different circumstances the characters have grown up with they will have traits - and relationships - that don't always match HP canon. Not a lot Avatar characters will show up, since it's been a century or two since they were knocking about. But some might.

**The occasional references to things that happened hundreds of years ago will make a little more sense if you're familiar with the animated shows, but the current state of the world (as well as the recent history of the world) is of my own invention, and so it will be explained as it is explored. So being familiar with the shows can add an extra dimension but it's not very important as this is primarily a Harry Potter AU.**

**Oh, and right now the technology in this world is on a deliciously steampunky level. Enjoy.**

* * *

**Harry Potter: The Last Avatar**

**Book 1: Water**

**Chapter 1: Happy Birthday, Harry Potter**

_He was wrapped up tight, safe in a haze of warmth and sleepiness._

_The door opened without a sound. That was wrong._

_The sharp man looked down at him and smiled a crooked smile._

_Then water._

_Water - water - sinking - sinking - burning - breathing - drowning - drinking._

_He reached for the surface but it moved away from him._

_He looked up and saw the man, distorted and twisted through the liquid that was the world now. _

_The crooked smile was bigger._

_First came the cold, then the dark, then the nothing._

* * *

Harry Potter opened his eyes. He was coated in sweat, his heart doing a million beats minute, as if to prove that he was still alive. He was lying on his side, afraid to move even an inch lest he scream or throw up. The fingers on his left hand were starting to tremble, so he quickly grabbed them with his right and held them tight.

A sliver of light spilled into the room as the door slowly opened, and Harry immediately flew out of the bed and into a defensive stance. Or he would have, but the sweat-soaked sheets were plastered to him and twisted around him, and all he managed was to tip over onto the floor. Pain shot through his right kneecap, shaking the last vestiges of the dream from his head.

"Happy birthday to you..."

_Get up, Harry._

"Happy birthday to you..."

_Don't let him see you like this._

"Happy birthday, dear _Harry_! Happy birthday to – oh!"

Lily Potter put down the cake and rushed over to help him off the floor. Harry looked past her to see the weakly smiling, entirely unsurprised face of James Potter.

"I'm fine," Harry said, shrugging off his mother. The room was sweltering and he'd only worn his underwear to bed, so he wrapped the sheets around himself for modesty and sat back up on the bed.

James opened the small window above Harry's overflowing desk, letting in a gust of air along with the blinding morning light, the sound of honking horns below and the smell of the city. His mother was always pestering him to keep the window open at night, but he preferred it shut. James liked to think that it was because Harry liked the heat.

When she'd made sure that Harry was unhurt Lily proceeded to drop one kiss on each of his cheeks and one on his forehead. "Happy fourteenth, dear!"

"Thanks, mum..."

"Happy birthday, kid," James said from the other side of the room.

_Wasn't it 'happy birthday, son' last year?_

His room was small, and having three people in it practically put it at its bursting point. It didn't help that stacks of books and scrolls of parchment littered the floor, forcing both his parents to tread carefully. A particularly insistent honk blared from outside, breaking the silence that had formed. Harry remembered living in the country, with wide and empty plains all around their huge house. He never kept his window shut there.

"Presents!" Lily exclaimed with enough excitement to put half-a-smile on Harry's face. The moments when she was acting more childish than him or James were to be cherished.

When Harry opened his gift from Lily, an expensive set of history books, she apologised and said that he was _so_ difficult to buy gifts for and that she'd noticed one of the books on the list from school and thought he might like the full set. He hugged her and said they were great.

Last year James had gotten him a set of advanced guidebooks on duelling, the year before that an expensive set of duelling gloves. This year he had gotten Harry a suit, complete with new shoes and a slim red tie. It looked very expensive, completely impersonal, and had nothing at all to do with duelling or bending. "A man ought to have a suit!" James said, somewhat vaguely, clapping Harry on the shoulder. It seemed Harry had finally managed the impossible – to break James Potter's spirit.

Then the cake was brought to him, and he was instructed to make a wish.

_No more dreams ever._

He blew out all fourteen candles, but a single one flared back into life.

_Figures._

"Try again," James said.

Harry blew again, and the flame flickered and seemed to die before coming back in full force.

"Is that a joke-candle?" Harry asked.

"Just try harder," James said.

"_James_," said Lily.

Harry blew at the candle again. Lily lifted her hand and made a move like she was pinching something out of the air, and the candle did not relight.

"_He_ should have done that," James said, annoyed.

"_He_ shouldn't have to because _we _agreed on regular candles," Lily said irritably. "I ___wonder_ how that one got mixed in there."

"It doesn't matter," Harry said.

"He should stop acting like one of _them_! He _can_ bend, so he _should_ bend!" James said.

"He doesn't have to perform for you, or anyone else!"

_Hi, hello, I'm still here._

"He should be proud! Captain Crouch says that a bender born of two benders of the same sort is one of the most potent -"

"Oh, 'Captain Crouch says', 'Captain Crouch says...' That man is your boss, not your god!"

"If you think that_ the Muggles_-"

"I'd like to go alone to Diagon today," Harry said.

That shut them up.

"I don't think..." Lily started, her hand reaching out for Harry.

"Good," James said. "I needed to work anyway."

"I thought you said that new partner could handle patrols alone!" Lily snapped.

James shrugged. "He can, but he's getting transferred away soon. Promoted, I think."

"Already? You've had the same job for _eight years_!"

"_'____Blood is strength'_" James quoted.

"In other words his father pulled some strings..."

"Well, yeah," James grinned. "So I need to get my foot in that door before he disappears!"

"I'll go with you then," Lily said, turning to Harry.

"I asked to go alone, remember?" Harry said. "What's the big deal? It's just Diagon."

"But what about there and back?" Lily said "There could be Equalists..."

"I'm not worried about Equalists," Harry said, more darkly than he'd intended.

James seemed to take his tone for bravado and grinned. "That's the spirit!" He walked up and clapped Harry on the shoulder.

"Besides, I'm meeting Hermione."

James wolf-whistled.

"It's not like that," Harry said. "Anyway, her parents are hardly going to be escorting her up and down Diagon, _are they_?" Harry shot James a glare, and he had the decency to look a tiny bit embarrassed.

"Well... Give Hermione our regards then," Lily said, uncertainly.

"Yes, give her our love and _kisses_..." James proceeded to make smooching noises. Lily was looking at Harry with concern, and did not even throw anything at James, which might have been her usual response.

* * *

"Honestly!"

Harry couldn't help but smirk. Hermione Granger's righteous indignation could certainly get old, but after months apart her knitted brow and lightly flushed face was a sight for sore eyes. He had been attacked with a bone-crushing hug and a face-full of bushy brown hair the second he came into Florean's.

"Happy birthday, Harry Potter," she had whispered in a voice much gentler than her touch.

"Why thank you, Miss Granger!" he had said, disentangling himself as best he could.

Florean's was always busy on summer days like this, so they stood in line for a long while, cramped between couples and groups of friends. The normally pleasant interior had been transformed into a sauna, and Harry could feel the sweat dripping down his forehead by the time they reached the counter. He smiled at Florean, who managed a tired grin and a "Mr. Potter," before taking their orders.

Harry tried to manoeuvre them to a table in a back corner of the café, but Hermione derailed that quick enough, grabbing him by the sleeve and bodily tugging him towards the door.

"But everyone will want to be outside!" he protested. "And there aren't a lot of tables."

"Oh, stop whining!" she smiled, taking a breath of fresh air as they exited the building. "There's a table right here! You're finished, aren't you?" The last was directed at a couple who were, more or less, about to leave and were forced to do so under the encouraging smile of Hermione Granger.

She swooped into her seat and leaned back with a contented sigh.

The Satomobiles that constantly honked and polluted their way up and down the street below Harry's window were not permitted in Diagon, _which had to be perfect_, so the enclosed area outside Florean's had been allowed to take up a fair portion of the street and they sat right by the small metal fence separating coffee house guests from pedestrians. Diagon was never very crowded, especially considering its location in the middle of Republic City (his mother had told him that Diagon used to be a lot worse twenty years ago), but the flood of people clattering their way across the cobblestones was still too large for Harry's taste.

"_Honestly_!" Hermione exclaimed (and Harry couldn't help but smirk). "You must be the only Gryffindor who hates the sun!" She closed her eyes and turned towards the sky.

"I thought it might rain..." he countered, fiddling with the sugar-bowl.

"You're as pale as ever!" she said, squinting at him before turning back to the sun. The same could not be said for Hermione, who had darkened quite a bit since Harry saw her last. It was no wonder, considering how she basked in the sunlight like a contented cat. "You really should get out more, Harry." She leaned back and stretched her arms up, and Harry was forced to notice that she had developed in other ways as well. He quickly averted his gaze and took a deep gulp of coffee.

"Have you spent all summer in your room?" she asked, opening her eyes and observing him critically. "It's just not healthy. Look at you now – a little sun and you turn all red!" Her tone had gone from teasing to concerned, so Harry pulled out a distraction.

"Well, we can't _all_ spend our summers in the Earth Kingdom, working on our tans..." The words '___I did __not____ go to work on my tan!'_ were probably halfway up her throat before Harry snuck in: "How were the libraries?"

Hermione's face lit up.

Fifteen minutes later Harry was quite confident that Hermione had forgotten all about his paleness, her lecture on the amazing Omashu libraries taking precedence. He _was_ still listening, but his eyes began to wander over the passing crowds and he absently started counting the different types of badges; a pointless exercise since everyone wore one, and they were fairly evenly divided between green, red, blue and yellow. Harry ran his finger along the red badge pinned to his shirt, and glanced over at the identical one on Hermione's chest, before looking away quickly.

Hermione was explaining the wonders of the postal system in Omashu when Harry noticed a familiar face in the crowd. A little way off, just by a corner leading into an alley, stood Gregory Goyle. The large boy glanced towards Harry and caught his eye for a second before turning and disappearing into the alley. Goyle was in Harry's year; a thug who was rarely seen alone. Harry started looking around, discomfort rising.

"Harry?"

"Hm?" Harry turned to see Hermione watching him intently.

"I worry about you, Harry."

"I get out enough, Hermione – do you think my mother would allow anything less – my skin just doesn't tan like yours-"

"That's not what I'm talking about, Harry..."

Harry looked down to see her hand covering his on the table.

"Don't worry about me," Harry told Hermione for perhaps the millionth time.

"How..." she hesitated, "How have you been sleeping?"

Harry removed his hand from under hers and took a sip of coffee before replying.

"Fine."

She looked at him for a long moment. He looked out into the crowd. Gregory Goyle was nowhere to be seen.

"I got you a birthday present," Hermione said.

"You didn't have to do that," he said, glad they were moving on.

She said nothing, merely reached into her ever-present book-bag and took out a book-shaped package wrapped in bright red paper. Harry took it and eyed it critically.

"Oh! What could it be?" he squeezed it experimentally, then shook it lightly, listening for a jangle.

"Shut up," she said, smirking.

Harry unwrapped the book. And stared at it.

_'Dreams of Past, Present and Future'_

"Now, don't judge it just from the title, I know it seems fluffy, like the sort of nonsense Trelawney would teach, but there's actually a lot of really interesting stuff in it, historical accounts of people whose dreams are thought to have interacted with the Spirit World. I tried to find a book like this here in Diagon but it was _impossible_ for some reason, so when I saw this in Omashu I immediately thought of you and- um, Harry?"

Harry had covered the title of the book with the wrapping paper. "You got this in the Earth Kingdom?"

Hermione looked uncertain and a bit perturbed. "Yes?"

"So you took it through United Republic customs on the way here," he stated.

"Sure. It's not illegal or anything, if that's what you're thinking..."

"No, but they know you have it. Don't you think you should be more careful?"

"What? Who are you talking about?"

Harry discreetly pointed his finger along the wall of the building opposite Florean's, where a long line of crisp new identical posters depicted the Chairman of the Council, smiling out at everyone in Diagon. 'BLOOD IS STRENGTH' the caption proclaimed.

"Are you serious?" Hermione asked, looking genuinely surprised.

"All customs information has been stored indefinitely for over twelve years now," Harry said, not meeting Hermione's eye. "Five years ago a law was enacted giving them the right to put any book or item on a secret black list, making it illegal to sell or display it publicly. And two years ago a law was enacted that allows them to demand customer information from _every store_ in Republic City."

Hermione looked shocked, but mostly at being on the receiving end of a lecture, for a change.

"But they didn't stop me from taking it into the City," she said, picking the book up and flipping through it. "So they can't mind us reading it too bad, can they?"

"They don't necessarily want to _stop_ people from reading it," Harry said. "They want to know _who_ is reading it."

"Okay, don't take this the wrong way, Harry, but why should anyone care about what books you read?"

Harry faltered for a second. "I just don't want anyone to know about... stuff. Anything."

"Oh, you're just being paranoid!" she said, exasperated.

He shrugged and stared down at his empty coffee cup, and her annoyance seemed to fade.

"Will you take the book?" she asked, making no move to hand it over.

Harry met her gaze and sighed. He gently pried the book from her fingers and swept it into his bag. "Sorry for making a fuss," he said. "Thank you."

"I just... I just thought it might help... " she said, sad eyes locked on his face. "You look tired, Harry."

"Don't worry about me," he told her, for perhaps the million-and-first time, just as the first few raindrops began to fall.

* * *

The rain had grown into a torrent by the time Harry neared the edge of Diagon. He was weighed down by his bag, which apart from Hermione's book now also contained his school supplies. They had bought their new things quickly, and in relative silence, hurrying between shops to avoid getting wet. At this point he was already pretty much soaked, but the bag was supposed to be waterproof, so hopefully the contents were okay.

They had parted outside Madam Malkin's, since she needed new robes while he, still retaining his annoyingly boyish frame, did not. They made vague plans to meet up again some time next week, not deciding where or when, except agreeing that it should _not_ be in Diagon. It was the best-kept district in the city, with not a speck of dirt or piece of litter in sight, and it had the best parks and most expensive shops, but Harry always felt totally out of place. Hermione might have loved the bookstores and museums, but she still resented the area.

Harry remembered when they had first met; when he'd gone to Diagon with his his parents to buy the things needed for his very first year at Hogwarts. Hermione had been very different then - an uncertain little girl being escorted around by some creepy government representative - and Harry's parents had taken pity on her. After a flash of James' badge silenced any protests from the government weasel Harry and Hermione had spent the rest of the day preparing for the coming year together. Harry, who hadn't quite started disliking Diagon back then, had shown her all the best spots, and by the end of it she had moved on from a terrified silence to shy smiles and excited babbling.

Harry readjusted the strap on his bag, which was digging into is shoulder, and thought back to the end of that day; meeting Hermione's parents just outside the northern gates of Diagon, where they were anxiously awaiting their girl and getting dirty looks from the Aurors at the gate for no other reason than being there. Harry had read somewhere that Republic City had been founded as a "safe haven for both benders and non-benders alike" and it had made him laugh out loud.

Harry walked past the statue of Avatar Korra and looked up at the pretty metal woman blandly smiling out at the crowd, hands on her hips. She was depicted at a young age, possibly still a teenager, but for some reason she was wearing an Auror's uniform, and Harry could practically hear Hermione's annoyed voice: ___"When she was that age the uniform did _not___ look like that - they didn't even __have____ Aurors, for goodness sake, they were all metalbenders!"_

What Harry found odd was that they had made her look so innocent and, well, _stupid._ There was nothing behind that empty smile, especially compared to the statue at Hogwarts, where Korra was depicted as a middle aged woman in traditional southern water-tribe clothing. With the Hogwarts statue it always felt like her eyes were following you, judging you, and despite her age she looked ready to leap off the podium and rough you up if you stepped out of line.

Harry realized that he was just standing there, in the rain, staring up at the statue.

_I am so tired..._

Harry walked on, the crowd thickening until he found himself at the end of a long line. He stretched, peering over the heads in front of him. The gates separating Diagon from the rest of the city were big and menacing, and as always there were plenty of Aurors milling around, wearing their customary armour with the seal of the United Republic on the front.

No one got in or out without having their identity and status as a bender confirmed, and while the Aurors were always courteous they were also paid to be thorough, and it looked like he might be stuck there for a while. Then Harry spotted a familiar face smiling at an old woman as he took her badge and peered at the back of it for her information.

_Oh, great._

James Potter just _had_ to be assigned to the gate he was going through, didn't he.

Just in front of him in line a seventh year Slytherin he recognized was redirecting the rain off of himself and his Ravenclaw girlfriend. The girl said something funny, the boy laughed, and his redirected rain accidentally splashed all over Harry. They did not even turn around.

_Screw this._

Harry stepped out of line, walking briskly back past the statue of Korra and towards the east gate, which was usually less busy. It was a fifteen minute walk, but he actually might save time by going there rather than standing in line, especially since he knew all the shortcuts in Diagon.

He slipped into an alley between two houses and stopped for a moment to dry some of the water off his glasses.

"I didn't know they allowed Squibs in Diagon now..."

_Oh, fantastic._

"Did you know, Crabbe? Goyle?"

He heard the grunts snigger, but didn't turn. Instead he shoved his glasses back on and kept walking.

_Just get out of the alley._

"Hey! I'm talking to you, _Potter_!"

Harry paused. "No. You were addressing Mr. Crabbe and Mr. Goyle." He turned around and saw the fury on Draco Malfoy's face. "But I apologize if I offended you." Harry gave a small bow, and Malfoy hid his outrage behind a mask of indifference.

It was a long way out of the alley in either direction - if they hadn't been there he could have turned and ran out to the street quite quickly, but that would hardly be allowed. The alley widened where they stood, meaning that there was no bottleneck to benefit Harry in a fight.

And there were no windows facing the alley. No one would see what happened here.

Did they follow him? Did they choose this place to confront him?

_Hermione would call you paranoid._

To top it all off Harry was soaked, while raindrops twisted in the air around them to leave Crabbe, Goyle, and Draco dry as dust.

Draco was blonde, handsome, and wore the latest fashion - a sharp cut, all black, except the green water-snake-badge on his chest. The getup looked uncomfortable, but Draco wore it well, backed up by centuries of aristocratic smugness in his blood.

"True, I was talking to these two..." Draco turned to his two henchmen. They had apparently strived to imitate their leader's style of clothing, but unlike Draco they could _not_ pull it off. Harry imagined two gorillas shoved into suits, and suppressed a smile.

"Boys," Draco continued, "what's the punishment for a Mudblood entering Diagon?"

"You _know_ that I'm a fireben-"

"I honestly have no idea what the punishment is!" Draco laughed. "No one has dared to try it in _years_. We'll probably get a reward for apprehending him."

Harry tapped the red lion-badge on his chest. "I've got one of these, haven't I?"

"A thief, too. Our reward is growing by the second."

The goons laughed, since it was clear that they were supposed to.

"I'm sorry, but I'm in a hurry," Harry said, giving another stiff bow. "I expect we'll meet at school. Good day." Harry turned and walked away briskly, making sure not to run. There was a chance they wouldn't stop him...

Malfoy was not one to announce before attacking, especially if his opponent's back was turned, but Harry sensed... ___something_.

And instinct told him to summon fire and direct it backward, meeting the blast of water to create steam and confusion, then to slide up against the wall to his left, and quickly step into close range where firebending would be more effective and the rain would benefit his attackers less. Waves of fire would distract the goons while he dealt with the real threat - Draco was smart enough to bend the vapours if given half-a-chance. A full force firepunch would take him out, as long as it came as a surprise. He could do it - Draco was quick, but Harry could pull it off if he acted now.

_Burn them! Burn them before they drown you!_

Harry fought his instincts and kept walking.

A second later he was shoved by a powerful blast of water, and the cobblestones came up to meet him. He braced his fall automatically, and his hands were scratched by pebbles, but there was no blood, so he stood up and walked on.

"Why don't you fight _back!_" Draco yelled.

Harry was shoved again, but managed to stay on his feet, and even used the momentum to speed up his walk a little. The street was close now... Malfoy was weaving rain around Harry, making it dense and soaking him to the bone. That sort of bending took finesse and skill, which meant that it was Draco doing it, not Crabbe or Goyle, but while it was annoying, and he might catch a cold, it wasn't exactly dangerous.

_Just ignore them. Just keep walking._

Suddenly it was as if he had stepped under a waterfall. Harry coughed and stumbled, almost falling to his knees under the weight. He kept his head down and took another wavering step. Malfoy was saying something but Harry couldn't make it out over the water pounding down on his head.

The rain fell harder still, and Harry fell to his knees. This was too much - when had Draco become so powerful? Harry looked over his shoulder.

His glasses were covered in water, distorting their figures and movements, but he saw enough to realize what was happening. They were working together, Crabbe and Goyle pulling and pushing water towards Harry, Malfoy spinning his hands, controlling and directing the flow of water, thickening the rain around Harry. Malfoy was controlling the brute force of the others.

This was a new trick... Malfoy must have been dying to try it out. Which meant that this was not a chance encounter after all - Draco planned this. How very clever of him.

And Harry would not be allowed to simply leave...

_Who's paranoid now, Hermione?_

Harry tried to stand, but the water fell even stronger. The drops merged until he had trouble breathing, and a vision swam before his eyes; a face not much older than Malfoy, but with a crooked smile on its lips...

_Okay, that's it._

Harry took as deep a breath as he could, coughed up some water, and channelled the breath into his arms, where he let it out. His focus was off, but flames sprung up all along his forearms all the same. They were in immediate danger of being put out by the rain, but Harry took another breath and pushed more energy through his body. The flames grew, and instead of being put out they ate the falling water and spit billows of steam straight into Harry's face.

With effort Harry stood and took a defensive duelling stance. His glasses had steamed up, but he could make out that Draco had paused his water-weaving, and was looking at Harry with something like greed in his eyes.

"Come on then, Potter! Give me your best shot!" Crabbe and Goyle paused, uncertain, while Draco held out his arms and presented Harry a clear target. The rain had let up, leaving Harry free to move as he wished.

_I could melt the flesh off his bones._

Harry put out the flames, turned, and ran. The street was not far. He would make it.

Behind him Draco gave a frustrated roar, and Harry was scooped off his feet and spun into the air. Water was all around him - he was underwater, _in the air!_ He couldn't breathe at all, and hadn't had time to take a proper deep breath.

_He reached for the surface but it moved away from him._

Panicking he tried to swim downwards, but only ended up spinning around to see that Crabbe and Goyle were pushing and pulling again, making rain from the whole sky fall sideways towards Harry. Draco was bending with a new passion - using less focus but more power to control the water around Harry and create a hovering sphere of water that encased him completely.

_Water - water - sinking - sinking - burning - breathing - drowning - drinking._

Harry tried to summon fire, but all that came from his arms were a thousand bubbles that spun around him in a dizzying dance.

_He looked up and saw the man, distorted and twisted through the liquid that was the world now. _

He tried to scream, but all he got were more bubbles.

_The crooked smile was bigger._

First came the cold, then the dark, then...

_No._

Doors burst open in his mind, doors that he had long since sealed shut.

_Not again._

He still couldn't breathe but now he didn't need to.

There were pebbles on the ground beneath Malfoy. Water flowed across the cobblestones, but rock and earth were there, underneath, ever-present, waiting, sleeping.

Harry reached out his hand, and the earth awoke.

Harry could close his fist and Malfoy would fall. The pebbles beneath Malfoy shifted.

_You have to do it! You have to-_

But behind Malfoy someone was walking up...

_No!_

Someone very familiar, who moved without a sound, and smiled up at Harry.

_Crooked..._

The sharp man raised his hand towards Harry, and Harry forgot all about Malfoy. He raised his own hand in response.

_Close your fist, and end him. Take him with you._

But beside the man someone else ran up, someone with a furious look on their face.

_Dad?_

Bewildered, Harry unclenched his fist, and inside him doors slammed shut. The earth no longer knew him. The man with the crooked smile waved his hand, and the water around Harry split into raindrops and fell to the unsympathetic ground, taking Harry with them.

* * *

The smell of rain on dusty ground came first. Then the nausea...

Harry jerked into a sitting position and retched, throwing up water and coffee all over himself and the ground.

"Ah", said someone. "You're awake."

It had stopped raining – the sun shone down strong now, but Harry was still as wet as he'd ever been in his life. He moved sluggishly, every part of him aching, and looked around on the ground, which was all he could take in at the moment. Finding his glasses, miraculously unbroken, he put them on with some difficulty, his hands shaking all the way, and the world became a little sharper.

He spotted his book-bag. Concentrating, he managed to unclasp the latch, and out of it ran a whole bunch of water, along with ruined books, ruined pens and ruined equipment. Harry looked down at what had once been ___Dreams of Past, Present and Future_, now an unrecognisable blob of pulp in a hardback binding.

"Did you even _try_ to fight back?" said someone. That tone was too familiar.

Harry turned around, still sitting on the ground, and squinted up at a tall figure framed by the light of the sun, almost glowing. His father.

James seemed to be waiting for an answer, but Harry's grip on reality was not very strong, and he hadn't yet decided if James was even really there or just some figment of his imagination.

_The man from your dream! He was here!_

Harry looked around wildly, but saw no one in the alley apart from James and himself. He looked up at James in confusion, and there must have been something especially pitiful in his eye, because James relented and reached down a hand to pull Harry to his feet.

Harry went along with it, though he immediately wished he could sit down again. His head throbbed with pain and his stomach made indications that it might rebel again.

"Why don't you dry yourself off?" James said.

Harry stood, swaying, his hand covering his face, trying not to vomit. He shook his head, not trusting himself to speak.

He heard James sigh, and to Harry's surprise he felt a sudden warmth. He removed the hand from his face and saw James holding a large flame and moving it gently up and down Harry's body.

"My partner is dealing with the other kids," James said. "You can go as soon as you're feeling better. Do you want to replace these yourself," James nudged the remains of Harry's school supplies with his crisp black uniform boot, "or should I pick up some new books and things after my shift ends?"

"I don't..." Harry croaked, before his voice failed him. The fire up and down his body was distracting, but at least he wasn't shivering any more.

"Good thinking," said James. "If you come home empty-handed your mother will start asking questions." James put out his flame. He dug a small coin-purse out of a pocket and looked inside before handing it to Harry. "This way she won't have to know."

_Won't have to feel the shame..._

So. He had been attacked, and his father had seen him be a useless coward. Okay. This was bad, but not unmanageable. He was still himself, and his dreams remained comfortably locked away in his head.

Harry put the purse in his driest pocket and was about to leave when he heard a laugh approaching from the mouth of the alley, and turned.

And a hand of cold steel gripped his heart.

There was a man, dressed in an Auror's uniform.

He was much older, in his thirties somewhere, but there was no mistaking that face. There was no mistaking that smile.

Harry turned and took a step away, but his father still had a hand on his shoulder, and Harry tripped as he spun. He fell to his knees, and the rest of his stomach splashed away along the cobblestones. He vomited and vomited until he had nothing left.

"God damn it," muttered his father. "I'm sorry about all this, Bart."

Harry tried to stand and run, but his arms and legs were shaking too much.

"No trouble at all, James," said another voice. "Boys will be boys."

Harry did not want to turn and face the man, but that meant having him behind his back, and as soon as that thought crossed Harry's mind a burst of energy threw him onto his feet and spun him around. The man seemed confused and amused by Harry's scrambling.

_Stop smiling you son of a bitch._

James was saying something, but now that he'd met the man's gaze he could not look away.

_Stop smiling at me stop smiling stop smiling..._

Something grabbed his shoulder, hard!

_BURN THEM!_

Harry lashed out; a punch laced with fire streaking towards whatever had grabbed him. His hand stopped painfully, and he stared wildly into the eyes of his father. James had blocked Harry's punch and diffused the fire effortlessly. He was looking surprised, but not displeased.

"A bit late, Harry..." James muttered, releasing Harry's hand. "I was just saying that this is my partner, Barty Crouch."

The sharp man gave Harry a small nod and a smile and Harry thought he might scream.

"What did they say?" James asked, still watching Harry cautiously.

"Oh, just a friendly sparring session," the man said. Hearing him speak was very strange. He had never spoken before.

"I don't think that's-" James started.

"James," the man interrupted with emphasis, "that was _Lucious Malfoy's_ son."

"Ah," said James, looking at the stains of vomit on Harry's shirt. He had worn the new one from the suit James had given him that morning. For a moment Harry saw the anger in James' eye, and he had a mad impulse to hide behind his father.

_That won't help. He'll just kill him first._

Then James forced a smile and turned back to the sharp man. "Just some friendly sparring then," he said.

"Are you alright, Harry?" asked the sharp man, a look of concern crossing his face. "You know, I had to pull some water out of your lungs... I'd lie down for a bit if I were you."

"He's fine," James said, clapping Harry hard on the back. "He's a Potter, isn't he?"

Harry's spirits might have been lifted by that comment if James hadn't sounded so uncertain, and if the clap hadn't nearly toppled him over.

_And if he wasn't standing in front of a murderer..._

The man called Barty Crouch was still looking at him, a slight frown on his face, and Harry was drowning in something colder than water. He could not breathe at all. James was talking again to the sharp man and the two started laughing.

Harry wanted to think that he was asleep, that this was some new perversion of the dream. But the pain was very real, and he could feel himself about to faint, the corners of his vision blurring. When everything started to swim before his eyes he summoned a force he didn't know he had in him and managed to stay upright.

"I'd better go home," Harry said in a horse voice that he had never heard come out of his own mouth before.

"What about your books?" James asked, sounding annoyed.

Harry gave the coin-purse back to James, trying not to meet anyone's gaze, but finding his eyes drawn back to the man called Barty Crouch.

"The kid needs to rest," said the sharp man, smiling his crooked smile at Harry. "He has a long year ahead of him."

Harry walked home quickly, the back of his neck prickling all the way. Once or twice he spun around, expecting to see the man with the crooked smile, only to meet the friendly watchful gaze of the Chairman, looking back at him from a dozen posters at once.

* * *

******Author's Note**

**Harry starts out very weak, both in terms of his character and his bending powers, but he does not stay that way. If you get past the first half-dozen chapters you will start to see what I mean. Big thanks to Trowa no Miko and Gift of the Dragons for reading though this and offering their ****opinions.**

**And thank you for reading.**

**Reviews are appreciated.**

**- The Sorting Cat**


	2. Hogwarts

**Author's Note**

**Thanks to everyone who has reviewed, followed or added this story to your favourites, and thanks to Trowa no Miko for beta-reading this chapter and helping me improve it.  
**

* * *

**Harry Potter: The Last Avatar  
**

**Book 1: Water**

**Chapter 2: Hogwarts**

"Hermione! Harry! There's plenty of room in here!"

They turned to see, smiling in the door of a compartment they had already passed, Ron Weasley. Harry met Hermione's eye and wondered if the surprise was as evident on his face as it was on hers. The train lurched into motion, and they all took a moment to shift their weight, Harry and Hermione holding onto their trunks. Harry raised his eyebrows at her, and Hermione shrugged before moving towards Ron Weasley's compartment.

"Thank you, Ronald," she said curtly as she went inside.

Ron's eyes dipped down to Hermione's behind as she passed, much to Harry's annoyance. Ron looked up, saw Harry watching him, and mouthed a 'wow'. Harry forced something like a smile.

Ron's claim that there was 'plenty of room' turned out to be less than true. Squeezed into the compartment already were Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnigan, Katie Bell, Parvati Patil, Lavender Brown, and Neville Longbottom. In other words: The social elite of Gryffindor Tower... and Neville Longbottom.

Hermione was looking rather overwhelmed by the crowded compartment. She turned, not knowing where to sit. Lavender and Parvati were giving her particularly poisonous looks.

"Um," Hermione said, turning to Ron, who smiled.

"Neville!" he said, and Neville stood up.

"Hi Harry, Hermione. I'll see you at the feast!" He took his trunk and shuffled out of the compartment.

"Neville," Hermione started, "you don't have to-"

"That's okay," Neville said, smiling, "I was just sitting down in case the seat wasn't needed." And he shut the door, barring any attempt at escape.

Hermione somehow ended up between Parvati, who had the window-seat, and Ron, who had a fuming Lavender on his other side, while Harry got a square-inch or so to sit on at the edge of the other seat, next to Katie and Seamus who were entangled in one another and had little attention for anyone else. Ron, meanwhile, had all his attention on Hermione, asking what she'd done over the summer. He seemed impressed that she had gone all the way to Omashu, and asked all manner of questions about her trip.

Harry had to hand it to Ron - Hermione could be shy, but get her going and she was in her own little world. Her face became animated as she spoke of her trip south into the Earth Kingdom, all while the train rolled out of Central City Station and made its way out of the city. Ron's attention, however, was not entirely directed at her face, but kept dipping down to the neckline of her sloppily buttoned uniform shirt, and when Hermione mentioned stopping to have a swim in a waterfall lagoon they had found along the way Ron said appreciatively that he "would have liked to see that", a comment that was entirely lost on Hermione, who had gone on to describe the brilliant postal system in Omashu.

Harry was getting more and more annoyed as the train started snaking its way north between the mountains surrounding Republic City. Had Weasley completely forgotten their first year? Forgotten calling her names and nearly making her cry in front of everyone?

Ron had taken the role of leader in their year, simply by showing that he wasn't afraid to push people down, and his targets of choice had been Neville and Hermione. He'd been less of a prick since second year, electing to ignore Harry and Hermione while Neville hovered at the edge of Ron's group, content to be a tag-along whenever it was allowed. Harry no longer felt the need to punch Ron in the nose - usually he didn't, anyway - and he was all for forgiving... But _forgetting_? That was another matter.

"Harry!" Lavender Brown suddenly exclaimed from her seat opposite to Harry. "How was your summer?"

Harry looked at her in surprise. "It was fine," he said.

Lavender laughed, quite inexplicably, and reached out to touch his arm. "Did you get any practice in?" she asked, and it took Harry a second to understand what she meant. "Think you might compete?"

Hermione, who had kept her lecture up until this point, stopped and turned to listen. So did Ron.

"Um, no," Harry said.

"Your dad's an Auror, isn't he?" Lavender continued, leaning in conspiratorially. "I'm sure he's taught you all sorts of moves that _no one_ at school knows."

"Not really," Harry said, not meeting her eye. The compartment had gone very quiet.

"But you _have to_ compete," Lavender said. "It just hasn't been the same since you stopped. No imagination! I think they've gone stale."

There was a flash of heat and light, and Ron laughed loudly, a flame dancing in his hand for a second. "Oh stop badgering him, Lav, he knows when he's beaten!" Ron flexed his arms in an exaggerated manner, sparks of fire shooting from him with every muscle compression. Everyone laughed, apart from Harry and Lavender - even Hermione sniggered at his antics.

_That was half-joke, half-threat._

The next twenty minutes passed in a similarly aggravating manner. Ron continued to pay attentions to Hermione, and though she valiantly tried to include Harry in the conversation he was separated by the wall of human flesh that was Seamus and Katie, and isolated with only Lavender Brown for company. Lavender, in turn, began flirting loudly with Harry. It was all rather awkward.

And then Seamus and Katie started snogging up against Harry.

"I'm going to go see if I can find the trolley," Harry said, standing up.

"I'll come with you!" said Lavender, standing and moving much too close to Harry.

"Okay," Ron said, not turning around.

Hermione had stopped talking in the middle of a sentence and was giving Harry a look of something like apology. Harry shrugged and left the compartment.

Lavender clattered the door shut behind them and muttered something like "powder my nose" before walking off without a second look. Harry watched her march up the aisle and vanish.

_Just in case I was stupid enough to think her interest was genuine._

Ron's explosive laughter rang through the door. Probably at something Hermione had said. Harry started walking up the train.

He found the lady with the trolley in the very next car. He also found that he wasn't at all hungry. But the old lady smiled at him, so he smiled back and handed over some coins, taking a box of those non-sugary chewing gums Hermione liked.

Now what? He didn't want to head back just yet, so he kept going up the train. Most of the cars had compartments, all of which were full, but there were a few cars with just single seats, so maybe he could find one and hide out there for a while.

He absently slipped a chewing gum into his mouth as he walked. Yup, they were still as boring as when she'd made him try one in first year.

"_Did you know her parents are _dentists_?"_

Harry gritted his teeth.

"_Can she even bend? Has anyone actually _seen_ her bend?"_

Hermione was back there, swapping holiday stories with Ron Weasley. In first year Harry had searched half the castle and found her crying in a bathroom after that very same Ron Weasley had said some very mean things. Had everyone else forgotten that?

_You should be glad Ron Weasley forgot how you repaid him._

He slammed open the door to the passage separating this car from the next, and was surprised to find someone already standing there, about to pass through.

Taking her in was something like a punch to the stomach. Jet black hair framed perfectly sculpted features centred around deep dark eyes. He had pulled the door open violently just as she was reaching for it, and two perfect eyebrows were raised in surprise. She wore a charcoal-grey jumper over a white shirt, her blue-and-bronze tie peeking through the v-neck. A tight black robe with blue lining covered up all too much of her, and a pleated grey skirt hid long legs in black tights... Harry might concede that, yes, every single girl in Hogwarts wore pretty much the same outfit - but they did _not_ wear it like Cho Chang.

"Miss Chang!" Harry said, standing aside to let her pass and giving an automatic bow. "So sorry..."

Cho Chang laughed and stepped around Harry in the cramped space, sending a dizzying flowery scent up his nose. "Potter, isn't it?"

"Yes," he said, and then stood there like an idiot.

In the enclosed space it was painfully obvious that Hermione wasn't the only girl who'd done some growing over the summer. Harry tried desperately to keep his eyes from dipping down, but looking into her amused eyes for just a second made him feel queasy, so he dropped his gaze and his eyes were magnetically drawn to her chest. Luckily he noticed the "P" on her shiny new badge, and found an excuse for his wandering eyes.

"So you made prefect! Congratulations!"

"Thank you?" she said, smiling. "I'm sorry, but have we ever really been introduced? I can't remember."

"No, no, um, I just noticed." Harry gestured vaguely towards her badge. The train hit a bump, and he withdrew his hand very quickly. "Well, I'll just..." Harry started twisting around towards the doorway leading to the next car.

Cho snapped her fingers. "Oh yeah! Didn't you win your year's championship a year ago? In your first year?"

Harry shrugged. "Three years ago."

"That's right! You're that kid who beat Draco Malfoy!" Cho grinned. "I remember thinking I had to thank you for that."

Harry smiled weakly.

There was a click and Harry jumped and turned as a door behind him slid open with a crash, revealing Lavender Brown coming out of a restroom. The girl looked surprised and unnerved to find Harry apparently waiting for her, but then noticed Cho and sent the older girl a calculating look.

"Harry!" Lavender said brightly, touching his arm. "Let's go back to the compartment!"

"Er, in a minute" Harry said, "I'll see you there."

Lavender huffed but walked off all the same, throwing curious looks over her shoulder at them. Harry turned back to Cho, and found the girl watching him with a raised eyebrow.

"Um," said Harry.

_Get out of here before you say something stupid._

"You're welcome," he said, "for the Malfoy-thing." He opened the door to the noisy passage between cars and stepped into the passage. "And it was nice to finally meet you, Miss Chang, but I better..."

Harry turned to flee into the next car, but saw something that made him pause. Striding down the next aisle were two people. The one trailing behind was a small blond girl Harry didn't recognize, but he definitely recognized the one in front, with flaming red hair, who looked determinedly into every compartment she passed.

"Oh great," Harry muttered. He pushed his way back past Cho Chang, mumbling apologies, and stepped into the restroom. He locked the door and held his breath.

He heard the door between cars open and close, and then...

"Hello, Luna," he heard Cho Chang say. "How was your summer?"

"Hello Cho," said a dreamy voice that he could barely pick up over the rattling of the train. "It was quite nice, I think, but very lonely."

"That's a shame," Cho said. "I don't think we've-?"

"Hi", Ginny Weasley's voice interrupted. "Have you seen a boy with black hair and glasses? A fourth year?"

"You mean Harry?" Cho asked.

A slight pause.

"_You_ know Harry Potter?" Ginny asked, incredulous.

Cho didn't reply, at least not vocally. A nod perhaps? Or a shrug?

"No, seriously," Ginny said, giving a small indignant laugh, "are you friends with Harry?"

"Maybe," Cho said, and Harry felt himself smile.

Ginny gave a 'hmm' as if to say she doubted it. "Well? Have you seen him?"

"I think he's in one of the last cars," Cho said, referring to the ones furthest away.

"Thanks," said Ginny, not sounding thankful at all, and he heard her stomp away.

"Goodbye, Cho" he could just make the dreamy voice drifting away after Ginny.

Harry waited a while until they were sure to be gone. Did Cho leave too? Harry wasn't sure. He waited a little longer, then opened the door...

And found Cho Chang smirking at him, her arms crossed.

"It's a long story," Harry mumbled.

"Oh, I bet it is!" Cho said, her smirk just growing in size. "Just a reminder: as a prefect I will be patrolling the school at nights, sticking my head into various broom cupboards, bathrooms, etcetera."

"Yes, I know. Why are you-?"

"Oh, just something to keep in mind. Wouldn't want to have to deduct any points on your account!" She winked.

_Cho Chang just winked at you._

Harry could feel his face burning.

"It's not like that. I don't-"

"_There_ you are!"

Harry jumped and half-hid behind Cho before realizing that the speaker was Hermione. She bustled up and grabbed Harry's forearm tight. "I've been looking _everywhere_ for you!" she said, and then went on a brief diatribe, describing the elaborate excuse she had to make up to go look for him, and then running up and down half the train.

"You appear to be a much sought-after man, Harry Potter," Cho Chang said under her breath, with a mischievous smile on her lips.

"Oh," Hermione said, appearing to notice Cho for the first time. "Hello?"

"Hello," Cho replied with a brief smile to Hermione. "If you'll pardon me, some of us actually need to use these things for what they were built for," she said, giving Harry a pointed look before disappearing into the bathroom.

"I didn't-" Harry started, but before he could say a word he was swept up by Hurricane Hermione, and found himself pulled through the passage and into the next car, with Hermione dragging him up along up the train.

"Why did you leave me?" Hermione said, sounding really annoyed.

"What? I- You seemed to be enjoying yourself well enough..." Harry grumbled.

Hermione stopped and turned to face him. Harry was surprised to find that she looked almost hurt. She quickly covered it with anger though: "Oh yes, what could be more stimulating than _their_ company."

"But you gave me a look that was like 'sorry about this – see you later'?"

"That's not what that look said!" Hermione exclaimed. "It said 'don't leave me with these creeps'!"

"I thought that was your 'I'm sorry' look?"

Hermione hit him hard on the arm.

"No, that was my 'don't leave me' look!"

_I thought I knew all your looks._

"I'm sorry," he said.

"Did you really think I wanted to be left alone with that sleaze-bag?"

"I'm sorry!" Harry said, and even though he meant it he couldn't prevent the smile that spread over his face. The stupid grin on his face earned him a couple of more punches over the next ten minutes.

They made their way up to a car with single seats and hid there for most of the rest of the day. He felt a bit uncomfortable leaving his trunk back in the compartment - he wouldn't put it past them to open it and go through his things - but if they didn't have to go back it was certainly worth the risk.

* * *

_He was wrapped up tight, safe in a haze of warmth and sleepiness._

_The door opened without a sound. That was wrong._

_The sharp man looked down at him..._

_Barty Crouch._

_...and smiled a crooked smile._

_That's his name._

_Then water._

_He's real, Harry._

_Water - water - sinking - sinking - burning - breathing - drowning - drinking._

_He's coming for you..._

His shoulder was damp...

Harry opened his eyes. The train was still moving - its gentle rocking had obviously lulled him to sleep - but the electric lamps lining the car had been lit and outside the window there was only darkness. He shifted a little and found that his arms and legs were very stiff and his forehead was clammy, but apart from that he was all right. He also found one Hermione Granger drooling on his shoulder.

She had fallen asleep leaning on his shoulder, and her body felt warm pressed up against him. Her scent was comforting, familiar, and Harry took a slow deep breath, trying to push the dream from his mind. Trying to forget about it like he had been trying to forget the events of his birthday...

_Shut up - don't think about it! You're going to Hogwarts, and it's the safest place in the world, so just relax!_

Harry spent the next ten minutes or so trying not to move so that he wouldn't wake Hermione, despite his limbs screaming to be stretched out. Then she shifted forward as the train lurched and slowed, and Harry grabbed her before she could fall into his lap. Hermione snorted and opened her eyes. She looked around in confusion, finding Harry smirking at her.

"You've been drooling all over me," he informed her.

"Sorry," she said, blushing lightly and rubbing at Harry's shoulder.

"Oh, I don't mind - in fact I rather _enjoy it_," he wiggled his eyebrows at her.

"What?" she asked, in confusion, and Harry realized that she was still half-asleep.

"Nothing," he said. "I think we'll be there soon."

* * *

Harry jumped onto the platform and took a deep breath of cool clear air. Even with the immobile train belching steam all around him this was still northern air, Hogwarts air, and Harry had spent the past three months inhaling the fumes of Republic City and missing this place.

A cry of "Firs' years! Firs' years over here!" could be heard from the far end of the platform, but Harry could not make out Professor Hagrid, or much at all, through the steam.

"Come on," Hermione said, climbing out after him and tucking her robe tighter around herself in the chill. "Let's grab a carriage before the Weasley gang finds us."

"Sounds good," Harry said. He didn't mention that he was also keen on avoiding Draco Malfoy, Ginny Weasley and Cho Chang (his embarrassment quota was filled for the day).

_Hm, I don't have any enemies in Hufflepuff yet. Probably just a matter of time._

They wove through the crowd and found themselves on the cobblestones of Hogsmeade, and the steam of the platform replaced with a heavy mist. "Where are the -?" Hermione started, but was interrupted by a sniffing sound.

She yelped as a round black nose the size of a tennis-ball came out of the mist and poked at her. It was followed by a huge shadow that became the hulking form of a badger-mole. Harry laughed at her reaction and patted the side of the big creature, and it gave a great rumbling purr in response.

"Did you know the Hogwarts clan is considered _small_ compared to the badger-moles around Omashu?" Hermione said, still slightly shaken.

"Really?" said Harry, looking up at the creature. He could see the shapes of dozens of them moving slowly through the mist, and he did not blame the people of Hogsmeade for traditionally staying indoors on the first day of term. Half badger and half mole, the creatures were larger than any combination of those two animals had any right to be - about the size of a small hut.

Harry gave the creature a final pat and climbed up into the carriage latched to the badger-mole's back where he settled down while Hermione solicitously hauled in a couple of second years who were hesitating outside. Sensing that the carriage was full, the badger-mole began its climb up towards the school, taking great bounds and making them all to bounce around the carriage.

Harry noticed that one of the second year boys seemed nauseous already. "You're not gonna like the next part," he told the boy, closing the shutters on the carriage window. The only light now came from an oil lamp swinging back and forth precariously from the ceiling. There were no electric lights at Hogwarts, Harry remembered cheerfully.

The badger-mole took a leap into the air, and after being pushed down in their seats they were all weightless for a second. Then the carriage shot downwards and there was a great shaking boom, before the rattling and shaking increased many times over.

"What's going on?!" the calmer of the two boys asked. He was holding onto his blond head in a near panic, but had managed to remain upright while his dark-haired friend was bent double and retching. Thankfully the boy's stomach seemed empty.

"We're in the underworld," Harry told the blond kid, with a grin.

Hermione, who didn't particularly appreciate the bumpy ride, but who'd gotten used to it by now, gave the textbook answer. "There aren't any roads leading to Hogwarts - haven't been any since the Hundred Year War. You must have seen the inner wall, but there's actually a whole series of them between the school and Hogsmeade. So the school is only accessible by boat, like you did last year, or by tunnel, which is why-"

Harry clapped the nauseous boy on the back. "I'd focus on her voice if I were you. Better than thinking of how we're in an underground tunnel that's sealing itself as we move along." Hermione gave him a scolding expression, and he answered with an innocent smile before continuing: "Did you know badger-moles were the first earthbenders? So our trusty steed is actually sealing us in. I guess if it got a heart attack or something we'd be stuck here. But yeah, just focus on my friend's voice. I find it quite soothing at times. It's lulled me to sleep more than once."

Hermione hit him, hard, and the brunette boy seemed more panicked than ever, but Harry was pleased to see the blond boy smirking. Harry didn't know why he was being so silly, but going back to Hogwarts always put him in a giddy mood.

"Of course you can also get into the school by air," Harry said, eying the blue trimmings on the kids' robes. Traditionally blue would be the colour of the Water Tribes, while yellow might go along with Air Nomads and green with the Earth Kingdom, but of course Hogwarts just _had_ to do things differently, he thought with a smile. "You guys are Ravenclaws, right?" he asked.

The blond kid nodded.

"Cool," Harry said. "Do you think you two could freshen up the air in here? It does get rather stale."

The blond kid eagerly spun his hands, conjuring a small gust of wind that ruffled all their hair. The fresh air seemed to help his friend, who joined in, demonstrating some pretty advanced airbending for a second year, as far as Harry could tell. They were properly distracted, and Harry wouldn't need to scrape any vomit off his robes before the feast.

_A job well done._

They were underground for another few minutes, before another moment of weightlessness and a great bump. Harry opened the shutters and looked out. They'd just passed the inner wall and badger-moles were exploding to the surface all around them. Harry turned eagerly towards the castle.

It still took his breath away; an enormous black silhouette against the starlit sky, spotted with red windows hinting of the warmth within. The many towers stretched upwards like fingers grasping at the moon, and almost making it. Next to him Hermione let out a contented sigh, and Harry turned and smiled to see her drinking in the same sight.

"You're looking towards the library, aren't you?" he scolded her.

"Shush," she said.

There was a road leading up to the entrance, but badger-moles rarely did things by the book. Helga Hufflepuff had somehow convinced the local clan to wear carriages and transport students, but they still did it their own way, flocking up to the school in an disorganized mess and unceremoniously shaking students out their carriages before grumpily disappearing into the ground, presumably tunnelling into the Forbidden Forest.

Harry jumped out, and gave the beast an appreciative pat before it shook the carriage loose and jumped away, startling some Slytherin girls along the way.

The Ravenclaw boys who shared their carriage seemed very happy to put their feet back on solid ground.

"Give it a few years," Harry told them. "You'll grow to enjoy it."

"If you're insane, that is," Hermione added. She _did_ look slightly green.

"_You'll_ grow to love it," Harry said to the blond boy, who smiled in response.

They joined the flood of people making their way into the entrance hall, which was almost as cool as the outside air, and hurried on into the Great Hall. Going through the double doors was walking into a glorious wall of heat. The lights were blinding - thousands upon thousands of candles brought the hall to life. Harry looked up at the mural that covered the entire ceiling, depicting the night sky. The dancing candles below made the stars seem almost alive.

All around them there was excited chatter and laughter as people caught up with friends they'd missed on the train. Harry made sure to keep an eye out for anyone he didn't want to bump into, but he wasn't too worried. He was inside Hogwarts now, and if there was one place he could melt away and be nobody, it was here.

_Home._

It had been years since they'd moved in from the country for James' job, but he'd never really felt at home in their cramped little city apartment, nor in the hustle and bustle of Republic City. Hogwarts was the only place Harry ever felt at home in a crowd.

The crowd around them separated into four streams heading to find good seats at the four long tables. Harry's feet led him of their own accord to their preferred spot at Gryffindor table, Hermione walking in step beside him. They sat near the end, backs against the wall, out of the way, yet with a view of the whole school. Harry looked up at the head table where old Professor Dumbledore sat in a throne-like chair, overlooking the entering masses.

_Safe._

"Did you know this is the _one_ teaching institution that the United Republic allows citizens to attend without having any control at all over the curriculum?"

"Hm?" Hermione had closed her eyes and was breathing in the atmosphere.

"All the schools in Republic City are strictly regulated, and it's technically illegal for a Republic citizen to attend school in one of the Nations."

"Hogwarts has always been independent from the Four Nations..." Hermione mumbled, apparently still sleepy from the train.

"Well, yeah," Harry said, "but so is the United Republic, and the Council has been pushing for Hogwarts and the Republic to be connected. Do you know what the only thing standing in their way is?"

Hermione said nothing, eyes still closed.

"Hey!" Harry snapped his fingers in front of her face. "Wake up."

Hermione slowly opened her eyes. "Did you just _snap_ at me?"

"That old man," Harry said, pointing up at Dumbledore and smirking, "is the only thing standing in the Council's way. Turns out being the personal friend of the last Avatar gives you about as much swing room as the Fire Lord."

Hermione was quiet for a moment, but at least her eyes were open, and she had a familiar thoughtful look about her. "Would your parents have sent you to Durmstrang if you'd stayed in the Fire Nation?" she finally asked.

Harry shrugged. "They both went to Hogwarts, so they were probably always gonna send me here. And we were barely in the Nation at all - out in the country, in the middle of nowhere."

"Sounds awful," Hermione said with a yawn.

"You're such a city girl," he said, shaking his head.

"And you're still a bumpkin," Hermione said, stretching. "Must have been a nightmare to get that Republic citizenship. Mom told me what her and dad went through to get in."

"Well," Harry said, "we moved because James got a job with _the government_, so it wasn't really an issue. And besides..." Harry trailed off awkwardly.

"Oh. Right..." Hermione said, despondently. She leaned on the table, spinning a finger and directing the flame off of the nearest candle, making it dance through the air and into her open palm. She watched the flame with something like disdain, and then pinched the air, snuffing the flame out. "I forgot that we're better than other people," she muttered.

"You mean 'cause we can both do _this_?" Harry asked, sticking out his tongue and rolling the edges up into a tube.

Hermione snorted a laugh.

Students were taking their seats all around them. A lot of them still seemed slightly disoriented, or even bruised, from the ride up to the castle. Harry honestly _did_ like the badger-moles and the bumpy ride to school, but maybe it was just that he preferred it to the boat ride he'd had to endure his first year... No, being underground had never bothered him.

There was a hush as the double doors opened and a troupe of first years were led in by Professor McGonagall. Harry ducked his head to avoid catching McGonagall's eye, since the mere sight of him seemed to annoy the Professor. Instead he looked up the Gryffindor table, and found himself on the receiving end of a glare from Ginny Weasley. Harry decided that watching the floor for the rest of the night was probably a good idea.

As they passed Harry overheard one of the first years excitedly describing how he had fallen into the lake and been tossed back out by the Giant Squid. For some reason the kid seemed to have enjoyed it. Harry shuddered.

_What a Slytherin..._

The kids marched up the aisle between the two middle tables, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, lining up in front of the assembled school.

"When I call out your name," McGonagall intoned in her ceremonious voice, "you will put on the hat and sit on the stool."

The Sorting Hat had been placed on a three-legged stool by old Filch, who was wearing his sharpest suit and who was now busy setting four objects on pedestals, one at the head of each house table. After ceremoniously placing and filling the goblet before the Slytherin table, the wind-chimes at the Ravenclaw table, and the miniature rock-garden by the Hufflepuff table, Filch had some trouble lighting the brazier at the head of the Gryffindor table. He was unsuccessfully scratching match after match against the side of his matchbox, and there was some snickering until a helpful student near the end of the Gryffindor table waved his hand and flames appeared in the brazier. Filch didn't seem to appreciate the gesture, glaring the student down before shuffling off to his place at the end of the head table.

Harry heard someone nearby ask why non-benders were even _allowed_ at Hogwarts, and there was a murmur of agreement.

"Who said that?" Hermione hissed at Harry, looking around. "Did you see who said that?"

"Just drop it, Hermione" Harry said wearily.

"Ackerly, Stewart!" called Professor McGonagall and a gangly thin-looking boy hurried over to the stool. He sat down and put on the hat, which slipped down to cover his eyes, and the hall grew deathly quiet. Every eye was moving eagerly between the brazier, rock garden, wind-chimes and goblet.

Fifteen seconds later there was a jingling sound, and everyone looked to the wind-chimes, now jangling peacefully in a small gust of wind coming from the direction of the boy on the stool.

"Ravenclaw!" Professor McGonagall proclaimed, and there was a great cheer from the table in question, along with polite applause from other houses. There was still a sense of festiveness whenever a student got into Ravenclaw, even though it had been decades since airbenders were considered particularly rare, and Ravenclaw house was almost as large as the others by now.

Stewart Ackerly, blushing furiously, removed the hat and ran to sit with his new housemates.

"It always fascinated me," Hermione said, "how the Hat can make you produce bending without moving your hands or anything. I've never heard of _anyone_ being able to do that - not even Avatar Korra! How do you think it works?"

Harry shushed her. He had literally heard her say the same words every year since second.

"Baddock, Malcolm!" called Professor McGonagall. Another wait and then a stream of water floating into the air out of the Slytherin goblet proclaimed him to be a waterbender, and Slytherin house exploded in applause as Malcolm Baddock joined them.

Surprisingly, the Giant Squid Boy, "Creevey, Dennis!", turned out to be not a Slytherin, but rather the first Gryffindor of the batch, making the Gryffindor brazier flare up along with every candle close-by. Harry applauded along with the rest, watching Dennis Creevey sit down next to his brother, who proceeded to blind the poor kid with a flash from that camera he was always carrying around. Harry had dodged the blasted thing more than once - he didn't particularly like being in photographs, not even the few group shots Creevey had caught him in...

The sorting continued in the usual fashion, students split quite evenly between the four houses, until "Quirke, Orla," took her place on the stool. Harry felt something uncomfortable creeping up his spine the second he saw the uncertain frail little girl walk up to the Hat.

_There's one every damn year..._

When Orla Quirke had worn the hat for a whole minute the Great Hall was filling with whispers that turned into mutters that turned into laughter. After two minutes Professor McGonagall walked up to the girl and uncomfortably cleared her throat.

"Why would anyone send their kid here if they weren't completely sure they could bend?" Harry said, angrily.

"Well," said Hermione, "Having a bender in the family can mean a lot - it's certainly helped my parents with all sorts of permits for their practice, which is absurd, of course, since how good dentists they are hardly have anything to do with me... But not every bender has manifested at eleven, so I can almost understand sending a kid here on the off-chance."

"Is it worth _that_?" Harry asked, waving at the little girl still on the stool. She had removed the hat, and was sitting completely still even though tears were streaming down her face. McGonagall was talking to her, trying to get her to stand up, but the girl wouldn't move.

There was jeering and shouted insults, mostly from the Slytherin table. Harry glared at them.

"One of her parents might be a bender?" Hermione suggested.

_Squib._

That's what they'd started calling children of benders that could not bend. A lot of new words had been springing up to describe non-benders...

Something moved just behind Harry, and he turned, startled, to see a man in Auror's uniform swiftly moving up the side of the hall.

_Where did he come from?_

Another Auror was moving up the other side of the hall. They converged by McGonagall and the girl, and one of them grabbed McGonagall's shoulder and moved her away while the other walked up to Orla and picked her up.

McGonagall looked furious, and for a second Harry thought they were going to see some fireworks, but the Professor did nothing except glare at the Headmaster. Harry followed her gaze and found that Dumbledore looked like he was tasting something sour, but he made no move to intervene as the child was briskly carried out of the room.

_This is all wrong... There aren't any Aurors at Hogwarts._

The crowd was buzzing about the Aurors now, instead of the unfortunate girl.

"Why are they here?" Harry asked Hermione, but she just shook her head, frowning.

A few more children were sorted, and then Dumbledore stood up.

"Welcome!" he said, smiling out at them all. "Welcome to another year at Hogwarts. I'm sure we're all ready and willing to dive headfirst into this feast, but there are a few boring things, and a few exciting things, we have to go through first.

"First off, the forest on the school grounds is called 'The Forbidden Forest' - interpret that as you will - and it's full of things that can kill you very easily." Dumbledore said this quite cheerfully. Harry liked Dumbledore. "So I advise you not to wander in there. Third off, there are numerous objects and activities that are prohibited in the hallways of Hogwarts, and Mister Filch has very helpfully compiled these into a highly comprehensive list, which is available for viewing upon request. Do not be fooled into thinking that common sense is a thing that can keep you out of trouble; Mister Filch has showed me the list and there is all manner of entertaining nonsense on there."

Dumbledore chuckled, as did a lot of the crowd, not including Mister Filch.

"Fifth off," Dumbledore continued, with little-to-no regard for the usual workings of mathematics, "I'd like us all to welcome your new teacher in Applied Defence, Professor Moody!"

Harry had noticed the gruff-looking man with the big moving fake-eye, and even assumed that he'd be teaching duelling, but he hadn't quite put two and two together.

"That's Mad-Eye Moody!" Harry said to Hermione, while clapping loudly along with everyone else in the hall. "He used to be high up in the Aurors before he was retired - he's the one who hired my father!"

"He sure looks like he can take a beating," Hermione said with an air of reverence. Mad-Eye Moody, who gave no indication that he heard their applause but simply glared out at the hall, did indeed look like he'd been to hell and back, with his numerous scars, burns and the peg-leg that Harry knew would be hiding under the head table.

If this was first year he'd be excited to have Mad-Eye teaching him, after hearing all kinds of war stories from his dad, but as it was he was wondering if staying in the background would be more of a problem with Mad-Eye than it had been with the incompetent Professor Lockhart.

"Finally," Dumbledore continued when the applause died down, "this year we will be hosting a number of guests at our school. I will tell you a little more about that once our stomachs are a bit fuller, but since you have probably already noticed I can inform you that due to these coming guests, new security regulations have been put in place."

On cue parts of the wall started moving and shifting with a grinding stone-on-stone sound. Four doorways appeared at the four corners of the room, and a train of servants in livery entered, carrying the night's feast on an assortment of trays. This was all normal - what was _not_ normal were the Aurors that followed each line of servants and then took up guard positions by the doors.

"The United Republic," Dumbledore said as the servants waited in line for him to finish before serving the feast, "has very graciously provided a security force to make sure that the events of this year go smoothly. They will not bother you as long as you do not bother them, so I encourage you to let them do their jobs in peace - if you have any questions or concerns you may take it up with a teacher."

Harry and Hermione exchanged a look.

"Oh, and _really_ finally this time - " Dumbledore said, "so that you know him by sight, and know who _particularly_ not to bother, this is the Captain of our little security force, Auror Crouch."

The world went cold and slow... A second ago there were hot-blooded firebenders all around him, but the ice under his feet had cracked, and he was falling through to the other side.

There was a man standing behind Dumbledore. A man with a shiny new captain's badge, and a sharp smile. Harry wanted to run. To run from the hall - to start running and to never stop.

_You can't leave in the middle of the Headmaster's speech. It will just make him notice you. He'll find you and take you._

The man took a step forward and stood straight and proud before the hundreds and hundreds of students. Harry felt his head spin, and he looked away, terrified of meeting Barty Crouch's eye. Of being on the receiving end of that smile.

_I was safe here._

He focused on the table in front of him. Wood. Ancient. Textured, but smooth.

"Young for a captain, isn't he?" That was Hermione's voice, somehow coming through the buzz that surrounded him.

_I am going to die._

"I suppose he's got connections."

_I'm going to die._

_I'm going to die._

_I'm going to die._

"Harry?"

_Water - water - sinking - sinking - burning - breathing - drowning - drinking._

"Harry? Are you okay?"

Harry forced himself not to vomit, forced himself to look up, forced himself to smile.

"I'm fine."

_I am going to die tonight._

* * *

**Author's Note**

**Thank you for reading. Reviews are appreciated.**

**Read on if you're interested in why I matched powers and houses the way I did. The only really obvious choice is Gryffindor - Fire. The others were up in the air for a time. I went with:**

**Gryffindor - Fire**  
**Hufflepuff - Earth**  
**Ravenclaw - Air**  
**Slytherin - Water**

**I could have tried to match colours, and ended up with Ravenclaw - Water (blue), Slytherin - Earth (green) and Hufflepuff - Air (yellow, like Air Nomad robes). But I also took the teachers into consideration - Potionsmaster Snape is certainly closer to water than earth, and Sprout is clearly Earth. Flitwick can also be connected to Air through his infamous Wingardium-Leviosa-lesson. I was also thinking that the Ravenclaw common-room is in a tower (air), while both Hufflepuff and Slytherin are underground (Slytherin being closer to the lake). Beyond all this I was also taking my own perception of the "character" of each element into consideration.**

**I decided to make Slytherin water, largely to make it clash with Gryffindor (fire). Also, bloodbending is an extension of waterbending, which goes great with Slytherin - it's a perfect "translation" of both the Cruciatus and the Imperius so it would be a shame to give that power to any other house than Slytherin.**

**Deciding on Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff was a bit more difficult. Airbending around the Hufflepuff commonroom makes no sense, but making Ravenclaw airbenders means that their tower can be inaccessible except through airbending, which allows for interesting possibilities further on.**

**On a separate note: I'm not changing much, but one change I HAVE made to the Avatar canon is the amount of airbenders around. In Avatar: The Last Airbender our dear main character Aang was (obviously) the last airbender, and that is still the case in the canon of this parallel world. But in this world, while Aang was frozen in an iceberg people were being born here and there in the Nations with latent airbending talents (possibly distant descendants of Air Nomads that enjoyed their travelling a bit more than their scriptures would strictly allow).**

**However, they were never trained nor had any reason to suspect their gifts, and so these people spent their lives never using their talents. When Aang returned he started finding and training these people, and of course he re-opened Ravenclaw House at Hogwarts, which had stood empty during the war.**

**Hogwarts was a school long before the Hundred Year War, but it was shut down during large parts of the war, and during other parts it functioned as a safe haven for all kinds of refugees and benders, proclaiming itself as separate and neutral in the conflict, which was, in a way, a highly aggressive move. It was all rather complicated.**

**Don't know if this is of interest to anyone, I'm just showing my work, as they say.**

**Hope you liked this chapter, please do tell me in a review how YOU would match up the elements and houses!**

**- The Sorting Cat_  
_**


	3. Power & Control

**Author's Note**

**I'd like to thank those of you who have followed this story or added it to your favourites, and especially everyone who has taken the time to leave a review. I really appreciate it! And of course a big thanks to Trowa no Miko for beta-reading this.**

**Seems like most of you (including Rowling, apparently) agreed with my way of assigning elements to houses, so that's good. **

* * *

**Harry Potter: The Last Avatar**

**Book 1: Water**

**Chapter 3: Power & Control**

Harry's eyes were burning.

Dawn had to be coming soon, but the darkness was still compact, both outside the window and in the dormitory. The curtains around the other beds were all drawn, but Harry's were wide open, allowing him a full view of the room from his position, sitting up against the headboard. His eyes were repeating a trail across the room, looking over the door leading to the stairs, the door leading to the bathroom, the windows and then the the door to the stairs again. He'd had his own curtains drawn at first, feeling safer enclosed on the bed until the others had gone to sleep and he realized that he'd have no warning at all if the curtains were drawn.

_You won't hear him when he comes._

There was no sound at all except for the gentle snoring of three boys, and the not-so-gentle snoring of Ron Weasley. Harry's eyelids were growing heavy, and he massaged his face. The darkness was too inviting. He could summon a flame, but that would take away his night vision.

_You won't see him when he comes._

Stairs, bathroom, windows... Stairs, bathroom, windows...

His stomach gave a loud grumbling sound. Harry wasn't sure if he had eaten anything at all; he just remembered Hermione telling him he _had_ to eat. After Dumbledore's speech the feast had gone by in a blur. At the end Dumbledore stood to speak again, and the whole school started buzzing about some competition, but Harry only had eyes for the sharp man. He'd been there through the whole thing, moving subtly around the hall, speaking softly to his troops. Just being in the same room as him muddled Harry's brain.

_Barty Crouch. Junior._

Harry still couldn't quite connect the name with the man. He'd never called the man in his dream anything at all, but "Barty" hardly seemed like the stuff of nightmares. Why would he need to call the man anything? He'd never mentioned the dream to anyone, except once to Hermione, something he'd come to regret since she wouldn't stop talking about it. The dream had come more and more often over the past year, until it seemed to be waiting for him every time he closed his eyes, but until Barty Crouch appeared it had at least had the decency of disappearing when he opened his eyes.

Harry opened his eyes.

_Wait, how long were they shut?_

Harry sat up straight, and a small flame sprang up unbidden in his hand, blinding him as he looked around wildly: Stairs! Bathroom! Windows! Stairs! Nothing was different.

The flame flickered in his hand, about to die, but he realized that his night vision was ruined, so he took a breath and channelled the flame back into life. At least... that is what he meant to do. Instead the flame sputtered and disappeared.

"What the hell?" Harry muttered. He tried to summon a new flame, but nothing happened.

The darkness was total around him - every second in the dark was a second he could be attacked. He would be blind and defenceless.

Trying to calm himself he crossed his legs, closed his eyes and concentrated, going into the meditative state McGonagall had beaten into all of them during first year. He reached for the the fire within, his flaming core. The heat was there, deeper than during the day, but still hidden underneath, boiling like the molten core of the world, but when he reached for it he found himself stung. It was as if his core had closed in on itself, shutting him out along with the rest of the world.

What was happening? Was he too unfocused, too tired? Too scared?

_Well screw that..._

If gently reaching for the fire didn't work he could always try the opposite. Harry took a few heavy breaths and tensed his muscles, fighting to ignite. He could feel it clearly now - some sort of barrier preventing him from going deeper.

_I control you. Not the other way around._

He forced his way past the barrier, snatched a handful of fire, and opened his eyes. It wasn't a full handful - it was closer to the flicker of a candle - but it was there, hovering above his open palm. It was comforting, and allowed him to see that the room was as empty and undisturbed as ever, but it would hardly be much use in a fight.

Harry got out of bed. He'd removed his shoes earlier, but was otherwise fully dressed in his white uniform shirt and black trousers. No shoes meant moving more silently, so he slipped across the cold stone floor in his socks, focused on keeping the flame alive in his hand.

Halfway down the spiral staircase he saw the light of the common room and increased his pace as the flame in his hand flickered and died despite his efforts. Arriving in the large room he was nearly blinded after the pitch dark of the dorm. The many oil lamps were all unlit, but the largest fireplace - the one intricately carved into the wall - was blazing, as always.

The common room was empty and Harry walked over to the fire, taking a moment to bask in its heat. Even if he was having some temporary trouble with summoning fire, controlling it might be another matter. He took a deep breath and extended his hand towards the fireplace. A sliver of flame separated from the fire and came to meet his hand. He spun it around his body and threw it back at the fireplace, sparks spewing up everywhere.

_Good._

Harry moved an armchair so that it stood very close to the fireplace and faced the closed portrait hole that acted as entrance to Gryffindor tower. He sat down, the heat palpable on the back of his head. As long as he stayed close to the fire he'd be able to defend himself, at least slightly. He also liked that it was bright down here, and the warmth was comforting. Although... In the dorm he had been around other people, even if they were asleep, and if he was surrounded by people when Mister Crouch came he could wake them, and then he wouldn't be alone. But that was irrational - a fear born of his dream. Why would the other Gryffindor boys rush to his aid against an Auror Captain entrusted with the safety of the school? Mister Crouch could simply arrest him for some made-up crime. Mister Crouch would bring his whole force of a dozen Aurors, probably. Who'd stand with Harry against that? The likes of Ron Weasley and Neville Longbottom?

Harry felt a sudden anger at Dumbledore, as if the old man should have known somehow that Crouch was a bad person, and put a stop to this. But the Headmaster hadn't looked happy about these guests... So why was Barty Crouch at Hogwarts? Was it _just_ to kill Harry, or was there some further goal? And why - why did he want to kill Harry?

_I don't know._

Was he being completely irrational? They were just dreams, after all...

_No. That's just what you tell Hermione to make her shut up._

Normal people didn't dream like Harry. Had Seamus Finnigan ever woken up screaming, rousing the whole dorm? Had Dean Thomas? Even Neville Longbottom hadn't... And Harry had done it more times than he could count, just last year. In first year one or two of the others had set their bed on fire in their sleep, much to the glee of the others. Harry had done it so many times that the joke got old. He'd had the dream for as long as he could remember, but it used to be something like once a year. Second year it started turning into once a month, and then once a week in third year. The other boys were completely sick of it and their insults and thrown pillows had trained him to the point that waking up from the dream was no longer a screaming, flailing, flaming affair. It was more of a cold, sweaty, frozen thing.

_He reached for the surface but it moved away from him._

Harry shook himself. He needed to stay vigilant, but he also needed to stay awake. He jumped up, grabbed a book from the nearest bookshelf, sat back down and started reading...

* * *

_He looked up and saw the man, distorted and twisted through the liquid that was the world now. _

There was a man standing over Harry.

Harry jumped up, reaching for the fireplace and pulling a great flame towards him. It teetered unevenly, a result of Harry's lack of focus, but he brought it home and twisted it around his body, then turned in an attack-position, coming face to face with -

A wide-eyed servant.

"Oh," Harry said. The flame disappeared, though he hadn't willed it. Harry's eyes darted around and he found that the common room was still deserted. There was a hint of dawn outside the grand windows. He had fallen asleep.

"Terribly sorry, sir! Did not mean to wake you, sir!"

Turning back Harry found that the servant, looking dismayed, had backed and bowed his way halfway out of the room. But he wasn't heading for the portrait hole - he was moving towards a doorway that had appeared in the brickwork...

"Wait!" Harry called, and the servant froze, halfway through a bow. "Are you an earthbender?"

The servant looked up quizzically, without straightening from his bow. "Sir?"

"Um," said Harry. "You can stand up..."

The servant straightened, still looking cautious. The man couldn't be that much older than Harry - the uniform did not fit him right, and he had big ears that stuck out at the sides.

"It's all right," Harry said. "I'm sorry I almost attacked you."

"Not to worry, sir!" the servant said, his fear evaporating instantly, and a lopsided grin spreading across his face.

"Um..." Harry was slightly unnerved by the man's mood shift. Indeed, the man looked as if being nearly roasted had been the high-light of his day. "I was just wondering if, um, if you're an earthbender?" Harry was peering into the doorway as he spoke, but the passage beyond was unlit. Harry imagined Mister Crouch coming through the darkness towards him, and shuddered.

Harry knew quite a few secret passages and shortcuts through Hogwarts but this was something different... He had never thought about it, but obviously the passages that appeared in the Great Hall to allow servants to enter during feasts were not the only ones. Probably there was a network of tunnels all around the castle that opened and closed with the use of earthbending. Could a passage like this be opened right into his dormitory?

The servant looked very confused. "Me, sir? Oh, no, sir! Of course not, sir!"

"So who controls this then?" Harry said, gesturing towards the passage. "The Aurors?"

"Oh no, sir," the servant said, shaking his head vigorously. "That would be Matron."

"Ah," said Harry, trying to sound like he had any idea what that meant.

The servant took out a little pocket-watch engraved with the Hogwarts seal, opened it carefully and peered at it with a frown, as if telling the time was something of a challenge. "She opens this one at five twenty-five each morning, closes it at - ah, oh dear..." With a sudden burst of energy the man started bustling around the room, picking up dirty cups and putting them on a tray.

Meanwhile Harry watched the passage that seemed to lead away into darkness. Only rarely did one ever see a servant at work in Hogwarts, and Harry supposed this was part of the explanation... He felt stupid for never wondering who stoked the fire while the firebenders slept.

"And do similar passages open into the other common rooms?" Harry asked.

"Oh yes, sir," said the servant, now vigorously polishing a coffee table.

"I suppose Matron must be a very powerful earthbender," Harry mused.

"Oh, I'll say," said the servant. "Although I think Hogwarts does a lot of the heavy lifting."

_What?_

"Not that I'd know much about that, or the other houses or nothin', sir," the servant turned with a grin and indicated the Gryffindor patch underneath the Hogwarts seal on his livery. "Seeing as I'm a Gryffindor, myself."

Harry wasn't sure how anyone could belong to Gryffindor House without being a firebender, but it seemed impolite to point this out. The servant seemed to see some scepticism on his face though.

"Means I work for Gryffindor house, first and foremost. It is _your_ underwear and socks I'll be cleaning tonight, Mister Potter!" The man looked positively overjoyed at the prospect.

_Wait..._

Harry turned to face the man fully. "How do you know my name?"

The servant looked slightly affronted - his unnervingly large eyes bulging in shock. "I'm a Gryffindor servant, sir," he said. "I know every member of Gryffindor House by sight, sir!"

"Oh," Harry said. "Sorry."

All smiles again, the servant returned to his scrubbing. "But sir is the first student I've talked to. Very exciting, sir."

Harry did not know what to say to that. He hovered awkwardly while the servant kept cleaning. Although quite strange, this man seemed harmless - entirely different from the person Harry had been expecting all night. And it hardly seemed like Mister Crouch would send this servant as an assassin, Harry thought as he watched the man apply table polish with much too much enthusiasm.

Harry's eyes stung just from being open. He took off his glasses for a moment and rubbed the bridge of his nose where they'd been digging into his face while he slept.

"Drat!" the servant exclaimed. Harry put his glasses back on and saw the young man putting away his pocket-watch before scrambling together all his things and piling them onto the large tray. He hurried toward the doorway, pausing to give a deep bow and a "sir" to Harry before walking into the passage. There was a small rumbling sound coming from the walls.

"Wait," Harry called out, and the man spun back around with wide eyes, the crockery and tools on his tray wobbling dangerously. It didn't seem right that this man did so much for him (and his underwear) without Harry even having known he existed. "What's your name?"

"Oh," said the man, with a wide genuine smile. "It's Dobby, Harry Potter, sir."

And Dobby rushed into the passage, the brickwork re-arranging itself behind him, leaving the wall as smooth and inconspicuous as ever. Harry walked up to the wall and put his hand against it, feeling the slightest vibration as the sound of grinding stone told him that the passage was still closing. For a moment he was worried that Dobby would get crushed because of his question, but the servant had been smiling, and he was obviously more familiar with this part of the castle.

The sound faded and Harry turned away, gazing tiredly around the common room. For a moment he looked for the book he'd been reading, before realizing that Dobby had plucked it out of his hands, or off the floor, and placed it back on the shelf in the exactly the right place. Harry felt like laughing.

The sun was rising in earnest over the mountains now, and Harry walked to the window to take in the glow. People would be coming into the common room soon. Gryffindors woke with the sun.

_It would have happened by now._

Some part of Harry relaxed, while some other part tensed up. He had been so sure that Mister Crouch would come for him in the night, and in a way it had been oddly liberating.

_That would have been the last time._

Usually the sunrise would make him feel invigorated, stoke his inner flame, but today it did nothing.

_Am I just going insane?_

* * *

"How did you sleep?" Hermione asked, somewhere between suspicion and concern.

"Fine."

"Did you have... dreams?" she asked tentatively.

"Nope."

He should have been starving, but he felt as if anything he ate would come back up. Hermione's prodding made him force down some dry toast.

"Welcome back, Miss Granger."

Hermione looked up and smiled. "Thank you, Professor!"

Harry warily looked up from his toast. Had McGonagall just appeared out of nowhere? Harry blinked a few times and realized that everyone sitting closer to the staff table than he and Hermione were holding small scrolls, and that the Professor was still carrying a dozen of these in a basket.

"I trust you had a pleasant summer?" the McGonagall asked.

Hermione mentioned visiting the Earth Kingdom and then visibly restrained herself from elaborating. A corner of McGonagall's mouth twitched as she handed Hermione a scroll, and she said she'd have to hear all about it some time.

"Mister Potter," she said, turning to Harry with a decidedly more frosty tone. "I hope you have spent the summer resting, and returned with renewed vigour."

"Yes, professor," Harry said, not meeting her eye. He hadn't showered or changed or anything, and knew he could not look particularly well-rested. He took the proffered scroll and the Professor left without another word.

Hermione looked like she wanted to say something about not being rude to teachers, so Harry quickly unrolled the scroll and focused his attention on it for a minute. Great - they had McGonagall first thing in the morning.

_Just what I need to calm my nerves. People throwing fire all around me while McGonagall looks at me like I killed her cat._

All through breakfast he kept an eye out for Mister Crouch, but though two Aurors stood stationed at the doors to the hall, their captain did not appear.

Suddenly Hermione was standing, looking down at him with raised eyebrows. Apparently it was time to go. His head swam when he stood and he took a moment before leaving the hall with Hermione. She was looked worried, so he tried smiling at her. She did not look convinced.

* * *

"There is power... And then there is _control_."

Professor McGonagall lit a flame above her open palm and then started opening and closing her hand, splitting the large flame into five smaller ones, one at each fingertip, with each opening and closing of the hand.

"If you had to choose power or control, what do you pick? Mister Weasley?"

Ron shrugged. "You need both!" he proclaimed, probably attempting a text-book response rather than 'power' which is what he was obviously thinking.

McGonagall gave a thoughtful nod, now absently manipulating the fire in her hand into complicated patterns. "How about you, Miss Brown?" Brown was busy inspecting her fingernails, and just shook her head, not looking up. McGonagall's nostrils flared, as did the flame in her hand, but she said nothing; just dispelled the fire with a loud clap of her hands, making Brown jump. "Mister Longbottom?"

"Um..." Neville looked extremely nervous, as always when called upon. "I think I'd pick control, Professor..."

McGonagall nodded, and turned to the whole class. "Control should _always_ come before power," she said. "A deftly controlled _weak_ bend is usually much more effective than a powerful, unfocused bend. More importantly, while having a lot of control and a little power will never hinder you, having a lot of power and not enough control can be very bad."

Harry shifted in his seat. Wasn't she stating the blatantly obvious? Harry glanced over at Hermione, who sat next to him on the row of desks furthest back in the classroom. She was watching Professor McGonagall with rapt attention, although that didn't mean much - she always did that. Harry himself could feel his attention slipping, his lack of sleep catching up on him.

"This is the case with all elements," McGonagall continued. "But fire especially so. No other element is as volatile if left unchecked. Power uncontrolled can be worse than useless - dangerous, even - but power _controlled_..."

There was a flash of cold light and a furious electrical crackle. Harry had been staring into his empty notebook, but his head jerked up to see McGonagall holding her hands together, as if she had captured a fly, but between the cracks in her fingers there was a brilliant blue light. She pulled her hands apart and a bolt of lightning stretched out between them. Its shape was shifting, slashing at the air and creating a sound like thunder that shook the classroom, but McGonagall held it steady. The light was blinding, even in the sunlight streaming in through the balcony windows on the right-hand side of the classroom. Harry squinted at her face, which betrayed not one bit of emotion.

A moment later she moved her hands back together, dispelling the lightning into nothing. Harry tasted coins in his mouth. There was a second of deafening silence before Ron Weasley started to clap loudly, and since it was Ron doing it everyone else followed, though Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil looked more than a bit put out. Lavender Brown's hair had become frazzled and was standing on edge, Harry noticed, although she herself seemed oblivious.

Hermione took her fingers out of her ears, her hair too looking even bushier than usual, and grinned at Harry before joining in the applause. "Isn't she _brilliant_?"

McGonagall raised an eyebrow at Ron and held up a hand to cut off the applause.

"Professor!" said Ron, raising his hand but speaking immediately. "Are we going to learn to control lightning this year?"

"As you brother Bill could have told you, Mister Weasley, lightning-bending is never taught at Hogwarts until seventh year, and only to students who show a particularly high amount of _control_, which is why I suggest you focus on that area in your continued studies, if you wish to one day bend lightning."

Ron looked slightly put off.

"Keeping the constant need for control in mind, it is still important to be aware of, and work on, your power." McGonagall then described a form of training that they were unfamiliar with since it was deemed unsuitable to those under fourth year. It had a long complicated technical name, but was commonly called "flaring". Harry had read about it, but the idea had never appealed to him. Apparently the idea _had _appealed to Ron and Seamus, who started exchanging excited looks when McGonagall mentioned it.

To "flare" was to push yourself to the limit, to bend all the flame out of you, to force yourself right up to the edge of what you could do in terms of power. This was not something to do often, or unsupervised, McGonagall told them, because quite apart form the danger of collateral damage there was also the danger of _burning out_, as she put it.

"Regardless of _myths_ to the contrary, flaring is _not_ a technique for increasing power," McGonagall said sternly. "It is rather a way of getting an idea of where you stand, which is the first step to being able to consciously increase your power through focusing exercises and regular training katas."

At the Professor's behest they then removed their outer robes, folded them, and left them on their desks before following the Professor to the door on the left-hand side of the classroom. They left the theoretical firebending classroom, which looked like any other classroom in Hogwarts, and entered Phoenix Hall, which did not.

It was dark as they entered, but at a wave of McGonagall's hand flames sprung up all around the walls. The hall was large and cubical; the walls stark, thick, and window-less. The only decorative feature in the room was a stone dragon, long and snake-like, twisting its way around the ceiling. In the same way that Hufflepuffs had the greenhouse, Ravenclaws had the towers, and Slytherins had the dungeons - the Gryffindors had Phoenix Hall.

There were various training dummies and practice-targets spread about, and a word from the Professor had them all clearing them away into the corners. When they were all gathered once more McGonagall talked through the process of initiating a flare. She gave them the usual spiel about the duality of fire; of the necessary passion (Lavender and Parvati giggled) and the peace and balance that was all the same required. Harry thought uncomfortably of sitting in his dark dormitory, desperately reaching for a flame and being stung.

_I'm sure it's passed by now..._

"Now," McGonagall said sternly, "I emphasize that this is _not_ a competition! Do not be discouraged if your flare is any less bright than you think it should be, or any less bright than one of your classmates." Ron Weasley and Seamus Finnigan exchanged smirks, and McGonagall noticed. She continued more harshly: "Any teasing or discrimination based on today's exercise would be unacceptable and, above all, _illogical_, since this is only a diagnostic test, and all of you will be able to improve on your results in due time."

With that they were ordered to line up close to the wall, behind McGonagall, and wait for their turn. The Professor liked doing things alphabetically, so Lavender Brown was first up, ordered to go and stand in the middle of the hall, which she did, looking bored.

"Go ahead, Miss Brown," said McGonagall. "Whenever you're ready."

Lavender Brown sighed and closed her eyes. She took a few deep breaths, then raised her arms and summoned one large flame in each hand. She then stood there, looking uncertain, the flames dimming slightly.

"That is not quite it, Miss Brown," McGonagall said as Lavender put out her flames. "A flare is a total exertion of your energy. You need to open yourself completely to the fire within, and simply let it all flow out. A flare is often accompanied by a yelp or screech. Do not hold back or be embarrassed."

Lavender looked annoyed, but also seemed to feel herself challenged, and Harry could see the focus in her eyes before she scrunched them shut. There was silence for almost a full minute, and Harry glanced around to see most of the class watching eagerly, though Hermione had her eyes closed and seemed to be focusing, preparing.

_What if I can't do it?_

Nervously Harry reached inside, intending to casually pull up a small flame in his hand, but before he got any further there was a 'WOOOSH' of hot air. His head snapped around and he saw two very large spouts of fire exploding out of Lavender Brown's hands, which she had raised towards the ceiling. She seemed barely in control of herself as she fell to her knees and a high pitched scream flew from her throat. Parvati Patil made a move as if to run up to her friend, but Professor McGonagall held up a hand to stop her, watching Lavender intently as the stream of fire gradually lessened into nothing. McGonagall let Parvati pass, and she ran to help Lavender back to her unsteady feet.

Everyone applauded. Harry felt sick.

With Parvati's help Lavender returned to the class, panting, and was hugged by an excited Ron Weasley.

"Very good, Miss Brown," said McGonagall. "Do not try it just yet, but know that if you were to attempt summoning fire at this very moment you would be unsuccessful. It will take a few hours to recover completely - if you wish you may go and sit in the sunlight on the classroom balcony."

Lavender, looking slightly flushed with Ron's arm still around her, shook her head. Either she was _very_ exhausted, or she was simply taking the opportunity to lean up against the redhead. Ron's eyes, however, were eagerly watching Seamus Finnigan swagger into the centre of the hall.

"Go ahead, Mister Finn-" McGonagall started, but it appeared that Seamus needed no prodding as he promptly exploded into flame. It was a much larger burst of fire than Brown's, and much less controlled, as it seemed to pour out of every part of the boy. McGonagall raised her hand and dispelled a few sparks that almost reached the line of students.

Unlike Lavender's flare it was over as quickly as it begun, and suddenly he stood there, surrounded by smoke, his hair and clothes more than a bit singed, face blackened by soot. Ron and Dean laughed, and the girls tittered (except Hermione of course, who was murmuring things to herself under her breath), but they all applauded all the same.

"Yes..." McGonagall said, as Seamus made his shaky way back to the group. "Power _and_ control, Mister Finnigan, try to remember that. Miss Granger?"

Hermione opened her eyes, took a deep breath and walked quickly to the centre of the hall, where she swivelled around and faced the class, eyes closed. McGonagall gave no prompt this time, seeing that Hermione had already started to concentrate and regulate her breathing. Harry forgot his own worries for a second and watched, curious as to how she would do.

He knew, of course, that Hermione was brilliant, but the practical aspects of bending had never interested her as much as the theory and she had never been particularly invested during sparring sessions in Duelling Class, so he had never really seen her push her practical limits. While Harry's attention was more focused now he couldn't help but notice that the rest of the class was not watching as closely.

Ron Weasley in particular was not paying as much attention as he had to Lavender and Seamus, possibly because Lavender was still clinging to him and whispering something in his ear. Hermione and Harry had always been outsiders in the class, and apparently they were not expected to yield as interesting results as the rest of the class. Harry found the thought oddly comforting.

And then Hermione lifted one single finger into the air and showed them all how wrong they were.

From her fingertip burst a controlled inferno, as large as Seamus' flare - no,_ larger. _McGonagall's hand flew up, ready to shield the other students, but Hermione's flare was directed straight up, and it reached much further towards the ceiling than any previous flare, even if it didn't come anywhere near the stone dragon looking down at them all. Harry felt the heat on his face, all the same.

The stream of fire went on and on, eventually starting to slow, shrink, and finally disappear. Hermione took her hand down and slouched slightly, letting out a long sigh into the complete silence.

"That was _bloody brilliant!_" Ron Weasley yelled, running up to Hermione and engulfing her in a hug. Several others burst into applause while Harry just stood and stared along with Lavender, who was apparently capable of standing on her own two feet, even though she didn't seem too happy about it.

McGonagall was hiding a smile. "Very good, Miss Granger," she said, and Hermione allowed herself a small embarrassed grin as she was pulled back to the rest of the class by Ron Weasley.

Neville Longbottom, wearing a 'how can I follow that'-look on his face, walked awkwardly towards the middle of the hall as Hermione managed to disentangle herself from Ron and slide back up beside Harry. She gave him an oddly nervous glance, and he forced a grin.

"Couldn't have said it better myself," he said. "Bloody brilliant."

She smiled, and Harry looked away. He was reaching inside desperately now, grasping for a flame. He barely paid any attention to Neville's flare, which was the weakest of the lot so far, earning a few sniggers from the other boys. After him Patil went up, and Harry was still unsuccessfully trying to make the tiniest of flames appear in his palm.

_Are you really this useless? You could do this when you were six years old!_

Hermione was tugging at his sleeve. He turned to her, and she widened her eyes at him.

"Mister _Potter_!" he turned and found McGonagall glaring at him. Presumably it was not the first time she'd said his name. "It is your turn."

Before he could stop them his feet led him to the middle of the room, but once he was there he couldn't bring himself to turn around. He had a sudden urge to run and hide. If there had been a window in the hall he might have leapt through it, but Professor McGonagall and the whole class stood behind him, between him and the only exit.

"Mister Potter? Whenever you're ready."

Harry stared at the ground and turned on the spot, facing them but not looking up. He closed his eyes and tried to take deep breaths, searching inside himself. Okay... He could feel his core burning bright within him, although much deeper than it should have been. He reached for it, but like last night he received a jolt and was pushed back. Almost like an electric shock.

Being gentle did not work out last night, but he _had_ managed forcing a flame. Harry gritted his teeth and pulled more roughly, tensing his whole body. He knew that this was not the proper way - the fire was to be directed, not pushed - but he did it anyway, his stomach twisting uncomfortably. He broke through the barrier and grabbed wildly, opening his eyes to find a handful of fire in his hand.

He felt victorious for a moment, before looking up and finding he whole class watching him. McGonagall had one eyebrow raised. The flame in his hand went out of its own accord.

_Oh, right. Flare..._

Harry's head spun at the thought.

He closed his eyes shut and left the classroom behind, sinking deeper inside himself to get a better sense of what was between him and the fire. He could feel the pulsating heat, but as he moved slowly towards it a buzzing started filling his ears. He could catch glimpses of the light beyond a wall of pitch black fluttering wings, but he was flung back forcefully and felt his feet stumble on a stone floor.

Gathering every inch of his strength he charged back at the barrier, clawing and tearing. The buzzing returned and increased until his very teeth shook but he made further progress this time and was blinded by snatches of firelight. He grabbed at the fire and tried to pour out as much as he could, directing the flame up, up, _up_...

Harry opened his eyes.

He had fallen to his knees. Both his hands were extended above him. He looked up and saw a single flame bursting from his joined hands. It was not big. It was larger than a normal, casually summoned flame, but it was not big, and it disappeared a second later. For a flare it was... pathetic.

He didn't want to look up. He knew he couldn't try again, even if he wanted to. His throat felt raw, and he wiped the sweat off his brow, feeling the sudden sting of a headache coming on.

Suddenly there was clapping. Harry looked up, confused, and saw most of the class cheering wildly. For a second he wondered if maybe the flare had been more impressive than he thought, perhaps before he opened his eyes? And then he found Hermione in the crowd, looking angry and glaring at Ron Weasley, who was clapping loudest of all. Hermione's eyes found Harry's and he saw only sympathy in them.

And he realized that there was laughter mixed in with the clapping.

_Ah... They're making fun of you. That makes more sense._

He glanced at McGonagall and found the Professor staring right back. Her posture was frozen, her mouth was set in a stiff line, and when he met her gaze for a moment he got a glimpse of barely contained fury.

He did not look up from the floor for the rest of the lesson.

* * *

"Mister Potter, a word?"

Harry froze halfway to the door. He'd shot out of his seat the second he heard the bell ring and now he had to stand there as the rest of the class passed him, chatting amongst themselves and throwing the odd smirk his way.

Someone gently squeezed his arm, and he turned to see Hermione. "I'll wait outside," she said quietly.

"Don't be stupid," Harry said. "You'll be late."

Hermione looked about to argue but McGonagall interrupted, not looking up from whatever she was writing at her desk: "Don't be silly, Miss Granger. Mister Potter is getting a note to excuse him from the beginning of his next class, and you are not. And Septima is less likely to be lenient about such things than Hagrid, anyway." Her quill finished its trail on the paper, and she gestured for Harry to come and sit down.

Hermione blushed, sent Harry a reassuring look, and scampered out of the classroom. Harry went and sat on a chair opposite the teacher's desk. McGonagall was writing something else now, still not looking up at him. Harry turned to the sun and felt its warmth on his face.

The rest of the class had passed quickly. Of course Ron Weasley outdid them all, his flare reaching even farther towards the ceiling than Hermione's. His had been the only flare that actually necessitated McGonagall redirecting flames so they did not hit the other students. That put Weasley at the top, with Hermione right behind him, followed by Finnigan, Patil, and Thomas. Harry's so-called flare had been smaller than Brown's. Smaller than Longbottom's...

Why did they have to do it in front of the whole class? Did McGonagall really not realize that the list would be engraved into all their skulls for the rest of the school year, changing their social hierarchy and affecting all their interactions from now on?

_What defines a firebender if not the size of their flame?_

After Weasley's display the rest of the lesson had been spent on meditative exercises that were supposed to help with control. Harry probably should have used the time to prod at his barrier and try to find a way around it, but he honestly had to struggle just to stay awake. He'd been tired and unfocused before the lesson, but after his attempt at flaring he was truly exhausted.

McGonagall spoke, and Harry's eyes snapped open. "That will excuse your lateness to Professor Hagrid," she said, pushing the first slip of parchment across the desk. She then took the other slip she had been writing, tore it in half along a perforated line, and handed half of it to Harry, stashing the other half in a drawer. "And _this_ you will drop off in Mister Filch's office on your way to Professor Hagrid's class," she said.

Harry looked at the paper in his hand and found it to be a small filled out form, carrying a date, identification number and the following words:

_House: Gryffindor  
Balance: MINUS TEN  
Student: Harry Potter  
Cause: Continually disruptive attitude_

It was signed with a scratchy 'M McGonagall'. Harry stared at it.

"I had hoped this talk could be avoided; that your attitude had improved over the summer," McGonagall said, "but apparently your determination to aggravate me knows no bounds."

"I..." Harry started. "I haven't done anything, Professor."

"Well, precisely," McGonagall said, staring him down. "What do you call that, that thing you produced in class? Do you call that a flare?"

Harry's throat went dry. "I thought you said we would not be judged by the size of our flares, Professor," he said, not meeting her eye. When the Professor did not speak he went on: "It wasn't _that_ much smaller than Neville's, and I don't see you holding him back here..." He hated that he was sounding like a whiny kid, but it was true.

"Mister Longbottom is, though not the most naturally talented, one of my most devoted students," McGonagall said, "and he always tries his very hardest. The same can not be said for you."

"My grades are okay," Harry said evasively, "and I always participate in the classroom. _Lavender Brown_ doesn't answer your questions, she - she never even _speaks_ in class unless she's whispering to Parvati -"

"Lavender Brown is a _lost cause_," McGonagall interrupted angrily, "and I am still holding out hope that you are _not_, Mister Potter!" Harry looked up at her in shock. After a second McGonagall seemed to realize that she should not say things like that, and she cleared her throat awkwardly.

"In your first year," McGonagall continued in a more even tone, "you produced a spout of fire six foot tall! And you were _not_ flaring. I remember telling Professor Snape that you would be one of our most potent benders in years."

Harry's mouth fell open. McGonagall had certainly never said anything of the sort to _him_.

"And if there's one thing I don't like, Mister Potter," McGonagall said, pinning Harry to the back of the chair with her gaze, "it is being proved wrong by _Professor Snape_."

Harry blinked, blinked again, and looked down at the floor. He could feel his eyes stinging, but with shame he realized that it was not from tiredness. "You don't think I try?" he said dully. Was he that pathetic? Held back because McGonagall could not believe he was as awful as he actually was? Glancing up he saw a flicker of uncertainty in McGonagall's eye.

"How did you sleep last night, Mister Potter?" she asked in a probing voice, entirely different from how she had spoken so far.

Harry gritted his teeth. "Fine, Professor."

"You're in Sybill Trelawney's class," McGonagall said thoughtfully, "and so you _should_ have been taught in-depth about chakras, and how they can be blocked in ways that restrict the flow of energy. However, unnatural blocking of the chakras, chi-blocking as they call it, is an illegal and rare talent."

Chi-blocking was a large part of what made Lily Potter fear that her son would be stolen away by Equalists in the night, but Harry had no idea where the Professor was going with this, so he just kept his eyes focused on the floor.

"There are also natural ways that the chakras can be blocked," McGonagall continued. "They can be clogged by extreme anguish and inner turmoil. This type of block could prevent a true flare." She was still speaking hypothetically, but a strange carefulness had entered her voice. "The level of pain required for such a block to form is... quite beyond the trials and tribulations of a normal teenager, despite how it might appear from the teenage perspective," she gave a dry chuckle, then continued in a quiet voice: "If a student of mine was in such a situation, then this," she indicated the point deduction form being crinkled in Harry's clenched fist, "would be a big mistake. And I should be offering my help instead. Is that what I should be doing, Harry?"

_Do it. Go on. Cry for help like a little baby._

"I'm fine, _Professor_" Harry said angrily, and he found himself meeting McGonagall's eye.

"I had assumed," McGonagall said, voice no longer gentle but still tinged with the slightest hint of uncertainty, "that what we witnessed today was some theatrical screaming from a boy unwilling to put in the effort."

"Well," Harry said acidly, every muscle in his body tense. "You got me."

McGonagall's eyes hardened. "I thought so."

* * *

Harry was leaning against the wall outside the classroom for a good five minutes.

_I ought to introduce her to James… They could start some sort of club._

It was strangely uplifting and depressing at the same time, how they seemed to believe that he was capable of much more than he clearly was. In a way the platitudes of his mother were even worse - like it was wrong to expect him to be extraordinary. Why was that wrong?

McGonagall had rounded off the interview by threatening detention if he didn't shape up. He looked at the two slips of paper he held and tried again to summon a casual flame - the most basic of bends, which had come so naturally just a few days before - but again nothing happened.

Someone cleared their throat, and Harry looked up.

_How dare you forget - how dare you think of anything else? Stupid - stupid - stupid!_

This was it - he had finally come for Harry. Instinct tried to force Harry into a duelling stance, but he just wanted to back away and he scraped his elbows and banged his head against the wall he'd been leaning against.

_BURN HIM!_

Something deep inside was screaming and reaching out for fire, and he thought that he would explode into flame like Seamus, but nothing happened. Nothing!

"You alright, kid?"

Harry blinked. Before him stood a person in Auror's uniform, but it was not the one they called Barty Crouch. Her hair was hidden by the helmet, but it was obviously a woman, and she was watching him with mild amusement.

"Aren't you supposed to be in class?" she asked.

Harry mutely handed over the paper excusing him for being late, and the woman peered at it. She almost looked too young to be an Auror, and when she handed it back she gave him a sideways smile. "Damn," she said. "Catching you skipping would have been the most exciting part of my day."

Harry nodded and walked away quickly, his heart still racing, pumping ice through his veins.

* * *

******Author's Note**

******Something I disliked about Legend of Korra was how common they made it for firebenders to be able to produce/direct lightning. I preferred the A:TLA view on lightning, where only the very elite were capable of controlling it. So that is how it will be in this story. In other words: Minerva McGonagall could ****_mess you up_****.**

******Thank you for reading. Reviews are appreciated.**

******- The Sorting Cat**


	4. The Girl with the Apple

**Author's Note**

**Thanks to everyone who has read this far, and especially everyone who's left a review (and to those of you that haven't - it's not too late)! I have the story planned out, but reviews telling me what you find compelling and what not will definitely influence how I choose to tell it. For example I've received several comments regarding the slow and sometimes frustrating pace, and it made me rethink how to deal with this chapter.**

**Now, this chapter is the middle of a three-part story arc of sorts, and originally I intended the whole thing to be one big long chapter. I broke it into three to keep chapter lengths at a manageable size, but that also meant delaying some pay-offs until the last part. Not that everything will be answered in the next chapter, but... let's just say it will be eventful.**

**Comments on the slow nature of the last chapter (and this one, from my beta) made me want to to give you the rest of this little story arc all in one go, so you wouldn't be left with such an unsatisfying feeling. Long story short - I have now finished both chapters four and five, and I will post the next chapter after this within twenty-four hours. Hurrah for me?**

**But first I present to you chapter four, 'The Girl with the Apple'.**

* * *

******Harry Potter: The Last Avatar**

**Book 1: Water**

**Chapter 4: The Girl with the Apple**

Harry was very nearly the only boy in Creatures Class. The only other one was a Ravenclaw by the name of Kevin Entwhistle, who'd had the rather brilliant notion that being the only guy in a class full of girls might significantly increase his "future prospects". Harry knew this because after their first day of class, exactly one year ago, the Ravenclaw boy had pulled Harry aside and said quite sternly that while he appreciated Harry's finesse in being the first to ride one of the horse-eagles (and thereby drawing the attention of several of the girls) he wouldn't accept any cutting in on his territory.

Entwhistle had then proceeded to divvy up the girls between them, naming the larger portion as his but allowing Harry free reign over the "ugly ones" as well as Parvati Patil, seeing as her twin was in Ravenclaw, and "he was a fair guy, after all". The boy had then shaken Harry's hand and walked off before Harry had a chance to explain that, no, he had actually takes the Creatures Class because of the _c__reatures_.

It was a warm day, but Harry held his robes shut anyway, trying to vanquish the chill that came from inside. Hurrying across the grass towards Hagrid's hut Harry glanced over at the Duelling Grounds and saw that half a dozen fights were already in progress. Below the empty stands there was a crowd of students from all houses waiting their turn in one of the six duelling circles. Sparring Class was to boys what Creatures was to girls, and he could spot Weasley, Finnigan and Thomas all changed into their crimson duelling robes and throwing fire around.

Weasley was sharing his circle with Thomas and easily dominating the smaller boy while a burly Hufflepuff in yellow robes seemed to be giving Finnigan a run for his money. Harry watched the Hufflepuff boy raise his hands and slowly hover a large boulder above his head.

_Sloppy form there - larger than he can easily handle so he has to do it slow, leaving him open to attack._

Where exactly did the Hufflepuff boy think the boulder would fall if he lost concentration? Even more annoying, Seamus Finnigan did not take the opening - instead he waited, carefully watching the stone as if its size meant that it was dangerous. The Hufflepuff flung the boulder and Finnigan jumped out of the way before going back on the offensive.

Madam Hooch was wandering about, interceding here and there with sharp words, but she only served to make sure that no rules were broken and that proper duelling etiquette was maintained, so she did not comment on Seamus or his partner's idiocy. On one hand Sparring was for those who did not get enough out of Duelling Class, where the true teaching was supposed to take place, but on the other it was still irritating - why bother training at all if you were only going to cement bad habits?

Harry shook his head, feeling a headache coming on, and picked up his pace. Finally approaching Professor Hagrid's cabin he found that the class was nowhere in sight, which wasn't unusual. Classes tended to start on the lawn outside Hagrid's pumpkin patch and then move towards the pens, so he continued walking around the cabin, immediately spotting the subject of today's lesson and smiling.

Hippogriffs, or "horse-eagles" as many named them, could be called intimidating but the word that always sprang to Harry's mind was ___majestic_. On that first day of class one year before he had been the first to volunteer to approach one, and he had been rather mortified when he realized that his ride on Buckbeak could have labeled him as a show-off like Entwhistle. What with their statuesque bearing and intelligent eyes Harry had not quite taken in their sharp talons and beaks at first.

A dozen of the creatures had consented to join the class today, and were trotting around their paddock, being fed rats, ferrets and other treats by his classmates. Harry found himself slightly out of breath and the headache getting worse, so he leant against the wooden fence, clutching his head with both hands, trying to squeeze away the pounding in his brain. The fence was high enough to lean his elbows on, but it was more of a suggestion than anything, seeing as how a Hippogriff could jump or fly out at any point, and Hagrid would never chain them up.

Harry watched the class for a moment, spotting the enormous Professor Hagrid gently talking one of the more nervous girls into approaching and bowing to the smallest Hippogriff, Greyfeather. Entwhistle was at the centre of a gaggle of girls as usual, making a show of stroking Buckbeak's neck. Harry was surprised to find the Hippogriff more or less ignoring the boy and instead staring right back at Harry. He gave the creature a small wave.

"I hope she wasn't too hard on you." Harry blinked and turned to find Parvati Patil leaning against the fence a few yards over. Unlike Harry she had dispensed with her outer robe, wearing only the white button up shirt and Gryffindor tie. "I still remember first year," she continued, apparently watching the class just as he had been, "when she held me and Lav' back when we were being particularly bad and gave us the dressing-down of a lifetime."

Harry did not know what to say - he was too busy going down memory lane and counting all the times he and Patil had exchanged words. He was not coming up with much.

"I nearly wet myself," she said and laughed, fiddling with a bangle on her wrist.

"No, she - uh - wasn't too bad," Harry said. "My boxers are still dry, at least."

Parvati smiled, still not looking at him, and he wondered why the hell he just said that.

"Uh, she took ten points though," he said, thinking that she'd find out anyway, "so sorry about that." The noticeboard in the tower kept everyone informed of who had lost and gained points for the House, and Harry realized suddenly that Dobby probably kept those scores updated.

_Did you seriously never wonder who did that before today? You're as bad as Malfoy..._

"What?" Parvati squeaked, finally facing him. "That's horrible!"

"Sorry," Harry mumbled, closing his eyes for a moment. Parvati usually had quite a low voice for a girl, but she was slipping into a high-pitched squeal that did nothing to improve his headache.

"She can't do that!" Parvati said. "She said she wouldn't judge our flares, and now she's taking points?"

"Mm," Harry said. He was glad that she was blaming McGonagall rather than him, as he had first thought, but he still didn't really want to talk about it.

"Anyway," Parvati said awkwardly after a moment. "I'm - uh - sorry about Lavender."

"Um," said Harry, totally lost. "You are?"

"For yesterday, I mean," Parvati said, arms crossed, eyes on the ground. "On the train."

Harry thought for a moment. "Oh!" he said, finally remembering Lavender Brown's forced flirting. It seemed like a lot longer than a day ago. "Oh, that. Don't worry, it's fine."

"Really?" Parvati said, watching him carefully. "Because you went to find the trolley and didn't come back."

Harry just shrugged. "Yeah, sorry."

"Maybe you found something more entertaining to do..." Parvati said, fiddling with her bangle again.

"Um -"

"But I really am sorry," she burst out. "Lavender can be _so stupid _sometimes!" Parvati was speaking passionately though she seemed to be talking more to herself than to Harry.

Harry watched the girl for a second, and realized that while he always thought of Lavender and Parvati as a single annoying entity, the annoying stuff usually came from Lavender. He thought back a few hours to when the whole class had been mocking him with their applause, and realized that Parvati had been the only one apart from Hermione to _not_ clap.

"Don't worry about it," Harry said, and he meant it. Parvati looked up and he smiled the first genuine smile of the day. It made his face feel slightly strained.

Maybe his smile looked off, because Parvati stared for a moment before looking away and laughing awkwardly.

Feeling slightly warm Harry removed his outer robe and hung it over the fence. "Um, so why aren't you in there?" he asked, indicating the rest of the class inside the paddock.

"We're supposed to work in pairs," she said quickly, still not meeting his eye, "and we were uneven without you so I had to wait."

She suddenly and effortlessly climbed over the fence, despite her uniform skirt and the heavy black boots that went along with hippogriff care. Harry realized that he'd forgotten to go into Hagrid's shed and put his on, but Parvati was looking back at him expectantly and he found himself climbing over the fence in a much more clumsy manner than her, making her snicker.

'Well we can't all have legs like yours' Harry thought, but thankfully he managed to stop the words from reaching his mouth. They walked towards Widewing, the only Hippogriff not currently being pampered by any other student. Harry had a soft spot for Buckbeak, but got on well enough with the whole herd.

"So," said Parvati. "You sleep okay? You look a bit haggard, or -" she interrupted herself, seeming to realize her words could be taken as an insult, "I mean - not that you look - um..."

"I'm surprised Lavender doesn't take Creatures," Harry said, changing the subject quickly. "She's the most girly girl in school, and this is the most girly class."

"_You're_ here," Parvati teased lightly after a second's hesitation.

"Well, _exactly,_" he said, tilting his head at her. "And I'm the biggest pansy in Gryffindor!" Surrounded by these great beasts Harry felt strangely safe. He seemed to be relaxing and entering some state beyond tiredness where everything was funny.

"Only in Gryffindor?" Parvati asked. "Not the whole school?"

Harry made an exaggerated sad face. "Ah, I'm afraid that Parkinson has me beat!" With a flourish he indicated Pansy Parkinson, who was fruitlessly trying to get a bow from Longclaws.

Parvati laughed lightly. "Well, if you're a girl for liking animals, what does that make Hagrid?"

"It makes Professor Hagrid a goddess amongst men!" he intoned, bulging his eyes at her. In a way he meant it - Harry was good with animals, but Hagrid seemed to have an almost unearthly connection with them, seamlessly becoming part of every pack, every imaginable creature accepting him almost instantly.

"Oh, gods," Parvati laughed. "Thank you for putting that image in my head! Hagrid in a flowing white dress, descending from the skies to mumble incomprehensible wisdoms through his beard..."

Harry smiled, but it was slightly more forced now. He couldn't blame her, since he was the one who started it, but it always rankled Harry to hear people disrespecting Professor Hagrid. In fact, Harry was probably the only one who referred to him as "Professor Hagrid" - to everyone else he was just Hagrid or The Half-Wit or That Big Oaf. To be fair he had told them on their first day that they didn't need to call him "Professor" or "Sir" or "any o' tha'", but Harry kept it up simply because there was a lot of disrespect to make up for.

Parvati's laughter died. "Well, you may be a girl but at least you're good at it," she concluded. "I remember how you had that platypus-bear eating out of your hand, and you actually _got on top of_ the gorilla-goat; I thought you were going to _die_."

This was quite interesting, seeing as how Harry barely remembered these events himself. They stopped walking as Widewings swung his head around towards them.

"Ladies first," Parvati said with a smirk, indicating that he should proceed, and Harry laughed before taking a few steps towards the beast and then stopping to sink into the customary bow. He straightened and waited for Widewings to reciprocate - the sign that Harry was allowed to approach.

Except the creature did not bow back; it merely watched him, large orange eyes narrowed in suspicion. Harry exchanged a glance with Parvati, who shrugged, and then tried sinking into a much lower bow, bending at the waist and presenting Widewings with his whole back. He held this position for a good five seconds before looking up. This time the creature snapped its beak in the air towards him and started backing away.

"It's me, Widewings," Harry said, and without meaning to he took a small step forwards. "It's Harry - "

The Hippogriff reared up suddenly, spreading its wings and showing Harry its claws in an unmistakable display of hostility. It gave a shriek, and Harry stumbled backwards and fell to the ground, more in surprise than anything. The whole class turned at the commotion and watched Widewings trot away from them to the other end of the paddock, all while keeping an eye on Harry. There was some light laughter at Harry's misfortune, and his shirt had some splashes of dirt on it, but that was always the case after a Creatures class. Mostly he felt confused and hurt, any sense of safety disappearing instantly. His classmates looked away soon enough - but was he imagining things or were _all_ the hippogriff's watching him with suspicion?

"Are you alright?" Parvati asked, holding out a hand to help him up. Before he could take it he felt himself being hoisted onto his feet by Professor Hagrid, who slapped the dust off Harry's shoulder affectionately.

"Harry!" Hagrid rumbled cheerfully, clapping Harry on the shoulder and sinking his feet a couple of inches into the soft ground. "How was yer summer?"

"It was fine, Professor, thank you," Harry said, smiling up at the man who stood at well over twice Harry's own height. "How was yours, sir?"

As he had expected Harry had no need for the note from McGonagall excusing him from the beginning of class - Hagrid made no comment on his lateness but brightly began describing the various troubles and interactions he'd had to mitigate between different packs of creatures during the summer.

"Dunno what's up with Widewings," Hagrid said, scratching his big black beard and looking off towards the creature. "Ain't seen him in a state like that for a while now."

"Mm," Harry said non-committally.

"D'ya wanna have another go, Parvati?" Hagrid asked Parvati, who had been standing there while Harry and Hagrid caught up. "I need to borrow Harry here fer somethin'."

"All right," said Parvati, though she lingered uncertainly for a moment before walking off.

Harry felt his spirits sinking as he turned back to the giant man. That first ride on Buckbeak one year ago had earned him a special place in Hagrid's book. Harry liked the rough Professor and his casual friendly manner, but Hagrid had taken it into his head that Harry was just like him - equally enthusiastic about _any_ creature - and tended to call upon Harry for tasks that were too intimidating, dangerous or downright foolish for any of the other students to dare attempt.

"You getting 'nuff sleep, Harry?" Hagrid asked, peering down closely at him. "Yeh look a bit - eh -"

"I'm fine," Harry said, forcing a smile back onto his face.

"Good," said Hagrid. "Tha's good... Listen, d'you think you could do me a favour?"

"Of course," Harry said, despite his best efforts. "What is it?"

"We're working our way through these treats," Hagrid said, taking a dead rat out of the pouch that hung over his shoulder and waving it about. "An' I got the fifth years right after this..."

"So you need me to get more of them," Harry said, catching on. "Are they - um - where are they?"

_Hagrid wouldn't ask you to find and kill rats... Right?_

"Oh there's a whole bag of 'em in the shed," Hagrid said cheerfully, and Harry relaxed for a second before Hagrid casually clarified: "The one in the forest."

"The - hm?" Harry said, not quite believing his ears.

"The forest," Hagrid said. "'Course, normally I wouldn't leave 'em in there - don't want nothin' sniffin' around the shed - but I was a bit out of it yesterday."

"We're talking about the Forbidden Forest here, Professor?" Harry asked weakly.

"What other forest is there?" Hagrid asked, glancing at the tree-line. Harry followed his gaze towards the woods that somehow managed to look menacing even in the daylight. The forest started suddenly, as if something was holding it back, barely restraining it from overtaking the grounds.

"Well, it's just," Harry said. "It's... forbidden."

"Ain't forbidden if a teacher's asking yeh to go in, Harry," Hagrid said, laughing.

"Right." Harry said. He didn't want to sound like a coward, but... "Isn't it dangerous?"

"Nah, not in the day," Hagrid said dismissively, then seemed to reconsider. "Well... Not if you don't go too deep in." he amended, then thought again. "Not as long as you stay on the path!" he concluded.

"Right," Harry said.

"Ye'll be fine," Hagrid said, thumping his back again. "It's only a five minute walk."

* * *

Five minutes on Hagrid's legs was, of course, not the same as five minutes on Harry's legs. He tried to keep a good pace, but felt like if he sped up too much he would start running.

The forest was wild, in every sense of the word. Harry couldn't help comparing it to some of the parks in Republic City, where trees had been allowed to grow in neat formations. It was quite clear that no one _allowed_ these trees to do anything - they did whatever they wanted. The path was wide but giant roots and branches seemed like they were reaching out to grab him and he couldn't stop searching the forest for movement. In places the trees were so thick that something could be standing almost next to him and he wouldn't know.

The forest should have been a vibrant green, but everything felt dull and grey, with only rare slashes of colour wherever the sunlight managed to penetrate the thick canopy above. He should be hearing the sound of birdsong and wildlife, but so far the place was eerily quiet. The only sound was the crunch of his own feet, and it unnerved him to no end.

After what seemed like closer to an hour than five minutes he could finally make out a small run down shed, and he sped up until he reached the structure, which was about the shape of a large outhouse; possibly big enough for Hagrid to step inside, but not much else. The door looked sturdy and when he tried the handle he found it to be locked. Standing on tip-toes he just about reached the big iron key hidden underneath the loose ceiling-tile on the left-most side of the shed, where Hagrid had said it would be.

Unlocking the door with a 'clunk' he pulled it open and looked inside to see a jumble of tools for maintaining the grounds and forest, including several axes, spades and rakes. There was also a very large well-polished crossbow hanging on the wall, and in a corner he saw a cloth caked in dried blood. Lying on the packed earth just inside the door was a lumpy bag, and a sniff confirmed it to be what he had been sent to find. Electing not to open the bag he moved it outside before locking the door and walking quickly back towards the school.

He was starting to relax - this wasn't so bad after all - when he saw her. His eyes had not stopped their jumping back and forth between the trees, and for a second he caught a glimpse of someone a little way off in the woods, walking away from the path. Harry stopped and stared as the figure disappeared into the undergrowth. He moved quickly to get a better view and saw that it was a girl with long blond hair, wearing a Hogwarts uniform. She was holding something very red in her hand - Harry squinted and made it out to be an apple.

"Hey!" Harry called after the girl uncertainly. "You shouldn't be in here!"

The girl did not seem to hear him; she simply kept walking deeper into the trees.

"Come back to the path!" Harry called, a bit more urgently. "It's not safe!"

He could no longer see her through the undergrowth. Harry hesitated, remembering all the things he'd heard about the forest; how it was full of beasts, giant insects, murderous monsters...

_And these are your arguments for leaving someone alone in here?_

Harry sighed dropped the bag of Hippogriff-treats before taking a step off the path and immediately sinking his foot into an unseen puddle. He cursed and wished again that he'd worn his boots before jumping the puddle and making his way through the woods after the girl, his shoe squelching with each step. The branches were thick, but he battled his way though. He'd expected to spot her immediately but had no such luck. In no time at all he was out of breath and his head was swimming. Should he go back? Turning around he spotted a flash of blond hair in a direction he hadn't expected.

"Hey!" he called, doubling his effort to catch up. "Wait!"

Fumbling his way through a tough bunch of branches he came suddenly to a slope, and catching his foot on something he fell and tumbled down the hill. He was exhausted and unfocused, but some teachings were drilled deep, and on instinct he turned the fall into something more controlled than it had been, pulling in his arms and legs, minimizing the risk of injury.

Until he came to the bottom of the hill and struck a tree, that is.

Harry lay on his back, eyes scrunched shut. His left arm had been crushed against the tree, but it was just bruised. In fact, his pounding headache was almost worse than the pain in his arm... He opened his eyes to look up at the sky, but instead he found a girl peering down at him. His instincts told him to scramble away, to summon a flame, to do _something_, but his body told him the opposite, and he lay still, every part of him aching. The girl stood bent over slightly, and a curtain of blonde hair hung down towards Harry. In her hand was the apple.

"Does it still hurt?" she asked, her face expressionless. She was looking at him but not quite meeting his eyes, instead staring at a spot right above them.

"I'll be fine in a minute," he said, trying to sound more certain than he felt.

"No you won't," the girl said in a strangely sombre tone. Before he could make a move the girl had crouched down and a small warm hand was on his forehead. "Hm," she said. "You're cold."

Harry, frozen in place, could only stare as she proceeded to stroke his forehead thoughtfully. He had just enough time to start considering whether he'd been severely concussed and was hallucinating before the girl stood back up. She wasn't looking at him - in fact her eyes were darting all around his head now, as if following something very fast with her eyes. She blinked and closed her eyes tight, sighing.

"Really, I'm fine," he said, and since his headache had receded a little he started to get up. He wanted to be angry, to berate this girl for walking into the woods alone, making him chase after her and fall, but he couldn't find the energy.

_And it's not her fault that you're a clumsy idiot._

"Your head must be awfully cramped right now." she said. She was looking at him with something like sympathy but the expression did not reach her eyes nor her voice, which remained airy and unaffected.

"I said I'm fine," Harry said, somewhat irritably, finally managing to get to his feet and lean against the tree-trunk. Standing next to her he noticed how small she was; her too-large uniform enhancing the impression. A first year? No, he hadn't seen her get sorted... Where _had_ he seen her?

"You're Ginny Weasley's friend!" he exclaimed, the answer coming to him. He had seen her on the train before fleeing into a bathroom.

"That is not very specific," the girl said - what was her name? Lucy? "Ginny has many friends. She's not like you and me, Harry Potter. Did you come to see the Thestrals?"

"The - what?"

"They look a bit like horses, and a bit like skeletons, and a bit like dragons?" the girl suggested. She watched the blank look on his face for a moment and then faltered. "Ah," she said, and took a few steps away, walking into the clearing they were standing near. "I just thought," she said absently, "since you came here - this is their home, more or less," she walked onto the small hill at the centre of the clearing and lifted her hands, spinning slowly on the spot, "or one half of their home, at least. And I thought if anyone should be able to see them..."

The girl trailed off, staring off into the woods. She seemed to have spotted something, but when Harry turned to look there were nothing but trees. He looked back at the girl, who was now smiling at the empty forest. She started walking off into the woods, her eyes still focused on something Harry couldn't see.

"Hey, hold on!" Harry called, taking a few wobbly steps after her. His head was still buzzing, and he had something of a limp, but he wasn't about to let her wander off again. He caught up quickly but the girl had stopped and was holding out a hand, halting him in place.

"It's okay!" she said with much more urgency and animation than her voice had held so far. "He's not going to hurt you!" She clearly wasn't talking to him - her hand was now raised in a soothing gesture towards the empty forest. Harry squinted, and considered taking off his glasses and polishing them, but there was obviously nothing there.

"Hey! Don't go!" the girl called out, waving her apple. "I brought you - !"

For a second Harry thought he might have heard something moving away from them, but it was only the wind.

"You scared him off..." The girl pouted. "You and your Nargles..."

Harry stepped around the girl so that he could face her. "What's your name?" he asked.

"Luna," she said, still not meeting his eye, focusing instead just above them.

"Luna, I think we should go back to the school now."

He'd half-expected the girl to argue but she just shrugged. "Okay," she said, and abruptly started walking. Harry, who had had gotten turned around and could only hope that they were going the right way, followed.

Luna seemed gracefully at home in the forest, slipping easily between trees and over rocks that gave Harry trouble. She was small and did not walk quickly but had a much easier time than him - twigs that seemed content to let her pass lashed out at Harry, giving him the urge to clear the way with waves of fire.

_As if you could._

"She has asked me to help her ambush you, you know." Luna said from up ahead, not turning to face him.

"Ginny?" Harry asked, and Luna gave a 'mmm' in response. Harry considered for a moment. "And will you?

"Hm..." said Luna. Harry came through a particularly thick clump of branches to find Luna just a few feet away, waiting for him. Her eyes were pointed at him but they were unfocused, as if she was looking through him. It was a bit unnerving. "No, I don't think so," she finally concluded.

"Thanks," he said, not at all sure if he should believe this strange little girl.

"But I think you should talk to her soon..." She leaned in conspiratorially, wide eyes seeking his. Harry leaned in too, despite himself. "She's running as hot as you are cold. Maybe you can balance each other out."

"I don't - what do you mean?" Harry's mind tried to speed to the night before, to seeing Mister Crouch in the Great Hall and feeling like the world had turned to ice, but he stopped it before the sick feeling in his stomach came back. Luna had already walked on, and Harry had to scramble to catch up.

To his great relief he found himself stumbling back onto the path not a minute later. The path was speckled with blood. Looking around in a near-panic he spotted Luna crouched over and examining the bag of Hippogriff-treats, which was torn to shreds, the contents having been devoured or carried off by some creature.

_And now you'll be disappointing Hagrid as well. Brilliant._

Harry almost snapped something at Luna about making him to leave the bag, but he held his tongue. Again - it was not her fault that he was an idiot and had left the bag unsupervised in a forest full of hungry creatures. Harry looked around into the woods; the fact that it was still so silent, even though it obviously was not as empty as it seemed, felt even more oppressive now than before.

"Sorry," Luna said, and Harry turned to see her holding out the apple to him. "Do you want an apple?"

"No thank you," Harry said curtly, "I don't think the whole Hippogriff herd could possibly share one single apple."

Luna shrugged and they walked off towards the school, leaving the tattered bag behind.

Harry had no trouble keeping up now - in fact he needed to slow his stride to keep in step with Luna. The path was wide, allowing them to walk side by side; Harry suspected that Hagrid had created it many years ago simply by walking into the woods, his impressive frame forcing a path to appear.

"Are you upset about the Nargles buzzing around your head?" Luna asked.

"Hm," Harry said, deciding to play along. "Maybe."

Luna gave him a stern look. "Well, you shouldn't be! After all - you put them there."

"Um," said Harry, and then closed his mouth.

_That's what I get for playing along with weirdos._

They walked in silence for a few minutes before Luna spoke again.

"I'm sorry," she said, "that was harsh."

"It's okay," he said, hoping that she would stop talking.

"No it isn't," Luna said, still in her airy detached voice. "Sometimes I get upset when people can't seem to deal with what's in front of them. Even when it's obvious that they need help."

"I do not need any help," Harry said, more forcefully than he'd intended.

Luna watched him curiously. "If someone was on fire, wouldn't you try to put them out? Even if they refused to believe they were on fire, and just wanted to go about their lives as if nothing were wrong?"

"I'm not on fire," Harry said.

"No," said Luna, "that's part of the problem, isn't it?"

Harry stared at her. Did she somehow know about his... power issues? How could she? Maybe she just meant his poor performance in Phoenix Hall earlier - it happened just a few hours ago, but the Hogwarts rumour mill was legendary, and the news might have spread. On the other hand he doubted that anyone outside his class even knew who he was, and since it was the start of term surely sordid tales of summer love and loss would outshine his own failure. And meeting Luna's wide eyes he thought that whatever else she might be - strange, reckless, possibly demented - she did not seem like the type of girl who listened to rumours. He simply couldn't imagine Luna giggling and swapping stories with the likes of Lavender Brown.

"Are you okay?" Luna asked, watching him closely with those impassive eyes.

"I'm fine," Harry said.

"Do you think it will become true if you keep saying it?"

"What?"

"I wonder if you've ever asked anyone for help in your life..." Luna mused.

_No one can help me._

"I don't know what you're talking about," Harry said, irritably.

"Don't you?"

Harry said nothing, growing tired of the whole situation. The trees were thinner now, and he thought the path had to lead them back onto the grounds any second.

"I can help you, Harry Potter," Luna said. "At least a little. All you have to do is ask."

"I said I'm _fine,_" Harry said.

Luna smiled a sad smile. "Are you just lying, or do you really think that your words can change the world? That would be interesting, forcing your way onto the world with the power of your own conviction... But I don't think it's going to work if you say it so uncertainly."

Harry frowned and walked ahead, finally spotting the edge of the woods. Luna gave an excited "Oh!" and Harry swivelled around in alarm to see that she had turned away from him and was staring back into the woods to the side of the path. Annoyed, he considered just walking away from her, but instead he found himself walking back and squinting into the woods, as if something would be there this time.

"It's the small one!" Luna said, happily. "He's curious... The adults usually don't come out this far, and never into Hippogriff territory."

For a second Harry thought he saw something move and he took an involuntary step forward.

"Wait," she said, grabbing him. "You'll scare him off. He doesn't like you."

Absurdly, Harry felt slightly affronted by this.

"Well," Luna mitigated, seeing the look on his face. "It's more the Nargles."

"Right," said Harry. He was about to turn and walk away when Luna proffered up the apple into thin air, then tossed it carefully into the woods where it promptly disappeared from view. Later Harry would try to tell himself that he'd just missed its fall, but as he stood there he was sure that it had disappeared into thin air.

"Well," said Luna, turning back to Harry. "That's that. Take care of yourself, Harry Potter."

"Are you going to tell me I need to sleep?" Harry asked, already annoyed, remembering the words of Hagrid, Parvati, McGonagall and Hermione.

"No, I don't think you need to sleep," Luna said after considering for a moment. "I think you need to wake up."

And with that she started singing to herself and walked off towards the castle, the gentle sound of her voice trailing off to be replaced by the unmistakable sound of an apple being chewed.

* * *

******Author's Note**

**Tune in next time to find out the answers to exciting questions such as... What's the deal with Parvati? Who's more crazy - Harry or Luna? And is Kevin Entwhistle as much of a player as he thinks he is? Actually, now that I think about it, not a single one of those questions will be answered in the next chapter... But a few more interesting questions _will be_.**

**Let me say that we'll start doing some time jumps soon - not every day at Hogwarts will be told in as great detail as this one. I'm fully aware that this chapter is a bit slow, but I feel it's all needed to set up future events. Some of those future events will be in the next chapter, which will be longer, more eventful, and uploaded very soon. It will either be up in twenty-four hours _or_ the minute I see that this chapter has received seven reviews - whichever comes sooner. Why seven? It's the most potent magical number, _duh_…**

******- The Sorting Cat**


	5. Wake Up

******Author's Note: I see seven new reviews and so the show must go on.**

* * *

******Harry Potter: The Last Avatar**

**Book 1: Water**

**Chapter 5: Wake Up**

When you do not sleep, the world changes - it becomes a fractured and foggy place. This was the only thing Harry had managed to learn in the past three days and nights, despite attending numerous classes and reading a dozen books from cover to cover. He was sure that the books were great and that the classes would have been fascinating - if only he'd been able to take in a single word that he read or that any single Professor said.

He would blink and find himself in new places. Blink. He was in the laboratory with Doctor Teo explaining what electricity had to do with lemons. Blink. He was taking mathematics with Sinistra, staring at tables and equations that made even less sense to him than usual. Blink. He was in Literature with Madam Pince reading aloud from some ancient ballad or other. Blink. He was sitting in Professor Binns' classroom, waiting for the rest of the class to arrive. Blink...

_Huh. Still in Binns' class..._

Students were entering in groups decided by the colour of their ties and sitting in the rows and rows of seats that ascended in a semicircle around the teacher's spot below. Harry had come early and snagged a seat at the very back of the lecture hall, apparently. He saw his classmates talking, their mouths flapping up and down, but didn't really register any sound except the buzzing in his head. He watched Padma and Parvati Patil, identical apart from the colour of their ties and the trimmings on their robes, exchange a word or two before heading off to their separate groups of friends.

_It's really lucky that we have those ties. Otherwise how would we know who to hang out with?_

Harry snorted a laugh. Looking down at his own tie he found it hanging loose, his shirt un-tucked. He thought he'd put more effort into keeping up appearances? Straightening it with clumsy fingers he remembered Hermione asking him one morning if he'd had "that dream", and he had burst into laughter, thinking that he'd finally found a cure - _not sleeping_! It was brilliant, really; why hadn't he thought of it sooner?

Glancing to his left he choked on his laughter when he found Hermione sitting close and staring right back at him. That had been another constant over the past days; every way he turned Hermione seemed to be there, watching him with barely contained frustration. She had given up on asking him what was wrong after two days, and was now instead watching him like he was some sort of science experiment, angrily looking for any clue as to how she could help. Perhaps he should appreciate her concern, but he did not.

The rest of the class had settled into their seats now. Harry noted that Malfoy was the centre of the Slytherin group but the peons fawning all over him didn't seem to notice that Malfoy was not giving them his attention. Instead the boy had his head turned towards Harry and was sending him a poisonous look. It spoke of pain and humiliation and revenge and Harry couldn't bring himself to care one bit.

The world was fractured, foggy - things were happening, and he was seeing them, but he could not connect to them. He was experiencing nothing. Binns was in front of them now, speaking. Harry tried squeezing some life into his face.

"Hello children," Professor Binns said in his usual croaky energetic voice. Binns was an old man, but full of energy. He had a great amount of bristly white hair that stuck out in all directions and bushy white eyebrows to rival Headmaster Dumbledore himself. "I hope you've all had a good summer, and returned well-rested and eager to learn!"

McGonagall had said similar words but made it sound like a warning while Binns said it with an air of irony, as he did with most things, as if he knew that History was no one's favourite subject and he was looking forward to tormenting them for another semester. Some students exchanged exasperated looks, but none dared speak out of turn in Binns' class.

"We're going to start the year off with a little game!" Binns continued cheerfully, pulling a blackboard on wheels into position next to him. "Doesn't that sound like fun? I am going to write down a word, and I want you all to tell me what it makes you think of."

Binns turned and started writing something with large sweeping movements and the squeak of chalk on blackboard was the only sound in the hall until Binns finished and stepped away, revealing the symbol he had written. The hall filled with whispers, mutters and titters, and Harry stared at the board for a few seconds before willing himself to focus and process the meaning of the symbol:

_'EQUALITY'_

"You!" Binns said, and a flash of white sped across the hall as he pointed suddenly towards the Slytherin group. "You find it amusing, I hear. Shall I put you down for 'funny', Parkinson? Or does something else come to mind?"

Harry almost laughed out loud at the sight of the piece of chalk hovering menacingly a few inches in front of Pansy Parkinson's face, pointing as an extension of Binns' accusing finger.

"No," the girl said sullenly, shrinking away against the back of her seat and trying to keep the chalk in her line of vision, her eyes crossing slightly.

"Not a single thought in your head?" Professor Binns said and cackled. "I wish I could say I was surprised..."

"Put '_dangerous_'," Malfoy drawled in a bored voice that was nonetheless powerful and carried easily across the hall. The boy flicked the chalk with his finger, away from Pansy, and it flew back across the hall and into Binns' hand.

"Yes!" Binns cried, scratching down a smaller symbol for underneath 'EQUALITY' on the blackboard. "Thank you, Mister Malfoy! You know what they say - you can _always_ rely on a Malfoy."

Harry held back a laugh. He didn't usually understand Binns' jokes - no one really did - but a little bit of insomnia seemed to be all it took for his brand of comedy to make perfect sense.

"Come now!" Binns said, challenging to the room. "Is Malfoy the only one with the guts to speak his mind?

This spurred Ron Weasley into raising his hand and offering up the word "revolution", and after him others followed. After a while they stopped offering words freely and Professor Binns started going through the whole class, making the piece of chalk dance from student to student, demanding that they think of words that hadn't been written yet. Harry realized he should have said something early on, before all the obvious words were taken.

Harry peered at the blackboard and made out the symbols for 'amon', 'evil', 'illegal', 'non-benders', 'chi-blocking', 'electricity', 'weak', 'Muggles', 'stupid', and 'liars'. Making his way through the Slytherin group Binns got a series of darker words like 'rats', 'assholes', 'criminals', 'Squibs' and 'Mudbloods'. Binns seemed particularly pleased with these words, but Harry could sense Hermione bristling next to him.

Ahead of them Neville nervously stuttered out "r-robots?", making everyone laugh. Binns made sure to put the stutter into his text on the blackboard, but commended Neville all the same. And then Harry and Hermione were the only ones left.

"Oppression!" Hermione called out in a strong voice before Binns even had an opportunity to wave the chalk in her face. There was some unhappy murmuring in response to this, but Binns put it on the board along with all the rest.

Harry blinked and found the stick of chalk wiggling in the air a few inches from his face, Professor Binns watching him expectantly along with most of the class. Looking past the chalk he focused on the blackboard, trying to remember what had been said and what not. To his surprise he couldn't find the most obvious word of all anywhere on the blackboard.

"Fear," Harry said, and Binns met his eye for a long moment before putting it on the board.

The class was allowed to buzz for a moment while Binns inspected the board critically, his back to them. For Harry everything had gone back to being unfocused and fuzzy. He was tired, but not sleepy - it was as if he had beaten the need for true sleep out of himself. It probably had something to do with the fact that he wasn't really awake even when he _was_ awake.

The second night had been hardest. He hadn't had the certainty of the first night; that stone-cold assuredness that Crouch would come for him before the sun rose. Instead he just had a sick feeling in his stomach and a headache. Things had not developed as he'd thought they would - far from being abducted he hadn't seen the man called Crouch once since the opening feast. His Aurors were around, guarding or patrolling, but their Captain was nowhere to be found.

Harry no longer believed that he would be attacked in the night, but the thought of putting his head down to sleep was still repulsive. Contemplating it would make his stomach turn over and put a grimace on his face, so he spent his second and third night sitting in the common room until half past five, when he would hide in the spiral-staircase that led to the boy's dorms and listen for the light rumble that announced Dobby's arrival. He'd sneak peeks at the young man scuttling about, cleaning and clearing up with ruthless efficiency, and at the dark doorway that the servant arrived through. Harry still had a sense that something other than Dobby could very easily come out of that darkness.

"Are my eyes going to shit in my old age?" Binns asked loudly, making Harry jump and shutting the class up. "I could have sworn that I wrote 'equality', but judging from your responses I _must_ have written 'Equalist'!" Binns turned slowly around to face the class. "Or have we come so far that I say 'equality' and you think 'evil'? Yes, Corner, what do you think?"

Michael Corner put down his hand and spoke, "Well," he said with an air of reasonableness, "the two words are just very similar, aren't they?"

Before the Professor could respond Padma Patil raised her hand, and Binns indicated that she should speak. "I think it has more to do with the fact that Amon used equality as a slogan for his anti-bending revolution," she said in a voice even deeper than her sister's.

"Hm," said Binns, letting the chalk fall from his hand and directing it to speed over to the high wall behind him, which was covered in a jumble of maps, calendars and historical objects. All the true relics at Hogwarts were hidden away in the Hall of Trophies or the library, safe and sound behind layers of protective glass, but the replicas in History Class were meant to be handled. At Binns' gesture the piece of chalk zoomed over to a section of the wall covered in masks and headdresses and it unhooked a white mask from the wall and carried it down to Binns, who held it in front of his face.

"Boo!" the Professor said in a ridiculous squeaky voice. "I'm Amon and I'm coming to get you!" He lowered the mask and surveyed them critically, being met mostly with stares of mild shock. "Amon used equality as a rallying cry for people who felt oppressed by benders. To the Equalists 'equality' meant stripping the power of bending from people like us. And so now I say the word 'equality' and you think 'dirty'. Doesn't it just make you want to laugh?"

No one seemed to want to laugh.

"Did Amon poison us so thoroughly that we are still controlled by his decisions even so many years after his death? I propose that he did not," Binns said, dropping the mask to the floor with a clatter. "I propose that Amon sowed the seeds but that after his death the plant itself has been groomed and cultivated by some very powerful individuals." Going from a thoughtful tone to a challenging one he suddenly asked the room: "What form of bending is the most powerful?"

After a second of silence half the hands in the room went into the air and people started talking over one another. Of course Ron Weasley and co. were loudly advocating the virtues of fire while the Slytherins jeered right back, repeating "what does water do to fire?" over and over. Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws were no different, arguing for their respective elements just as vigorously, though possibly with less volume. Harry squirmed and put fingers into his ears at the uproar, his headache, which had been more or less ever-present the past few days, rearing up again.

It was a favourite topic of conversation in the school; Hogwarts probably held the most concentrated collection of benders of all four elements in the whole world, and the fact that they were mostly teenagers only added to the competitiveness between Houses. It was probably the reason that most classes didn't mix Houses, and the reason they'd set up the House Cup and Duelling Championship, allowing them to blow off steam in a controlled manner. Binns seemed to prefer chaos though - Harry could see the Professor smirking in satisfaction at the disorder his simple question had caused.

Before things had a chance to escalate from bickering into an all-out war Binns cleared his throat expansively, simultaneously using his earthbending to shake the whole hall and bounce them up and down in their seats, alarming them all considerably but making them instantly forget about attacking one another. Everything became still and silent except the dust falling from the ceiling.

"I propose," Binns said calmly and quietly, as if nothing had happened, "that the most powerful type of bending is the power to bend minds."

"There's no such thing," said a bold Ravenclaw boy.

"No?" Binns asked. "No one has ever made you change your mind?"

The Ravenclaw boy shrugged. "That's not a _real_ power."

Binns' creaky laughter echoed through the hall for a good thirty seconds at that. "If you can change the way people see the world, then you can change the world itself," he said when he'd collected himself. "You can broaden people's minds, or close them off, and either way you are changing what is conceivable and what is not. The Hundred Year War was started because the people of the Fire Nation were so dedicated to their Fire Lord and to their way of life that they thought they were _civilizing_ the rest of the world by invading."

Binns waved a hand and behind him his piece of chalk circled the symbol for 'fear'.

"Fear is a large part of it," Binns said, meeting Harry's eye for a second. "Fear of _the other_, fear of _the new_. In the United Republic you can still be arrested and held indefinitely for 'Equalist tendencies', whatever that means. But do any of you really believe that there are Equalists hiding around every corner, still?"

A lot of people squirmed uncomfortably, and Malfoy looked like he was about to say something angry when Binns suddenly kicked the mask lying at his feet into air and into his own hand, covering his face once again.

"BOO!" he said, then lowered it. "Of course you do! It's how you've been taught to think." Using the chalk to float the mask back to its proper place on the wall Binns jabbed a finger at the blackboard behind him. "These changes in how we think - we see them expressed in the way we talk." Binns jabbed at the blackboard behind him. "Muggle, Squib, Mudblood - these words did not _exist_ fifty years ago! Who came up with them, and why?"

Letting the question hang in the air for a moment, Binns then shrugged. "It is something worth considering," he said, and then continued in a more businesslike tone, "what we are going to talk about this semester are the workings of power."

Binns then started describing the structure of the Council that ruled the United Republic and Harry could feel his attention slipping; he was almost amazed that Binns had managed to hold it for so long. Binns turned to Malfoy and asked how close ties he would say that his father had to the Northern Water Tribe, which he "supposedly represents". Malfoy cooly told him that his father had the blood of the northern royals in his blood, just as Malfoy himself did. Binns said "Ah yes, but he was born and bred in Republic City, was he not?" which Malfoy grudgingly conceded that he was.

"But what of it?" Malfoy sneered. "Who are you to judge who is fit to rule?"

"I am not here to judge," Binns said. "I am merely an observer, and I observe that the Council originally consisted of ambassadors from the Nations, but that the Republic has grown increasingly separate from the Nations. It is not necessarily an unjust move to elect representatives who are more in-tune with the needs of the Republic rather than the world as a whole, but if that is the argument then why hasn't there been a non-bender on the Council for over a hundred years?"

"It's illegal, isn't it?" someone asked.

"No!" Binns said with an exasperated groan.

"Not yet," Malfoy said derisively.

"Exactly!" Binns said, seeming pleased by Malfoy's comment. "Exactly."

* * *

Binns went on to talk about the very first Chairman of the Council, who had been a non-bender from the Southern Water Tribe and "without whom we'd all be wearing Fire Nation red," as Binns put it. He advised them all to sharpen their quills, gleefully informing them that this would all be on the test, and Harry _tried_ to listen, but after a blink or two he found that an hour had passed, and he had not taken in a thing.

He was distracted by the smallest things. Seeing Parvati whispering and giggling with Lavender Brown he wondered who it was that he had met in Creatures Class, and how she could seem so different from the girl in front of him? Which one was the real Parvati Patil - was it one of them or both or neither? Maybe her twin sister had taken her red tie and passed herself off as someone else. Harry put a hand over his mouth, as if holding back a yawn when he was actually holding back laughter.

Pretending to be someone else would be... interesting. His eyes wandered over to Padma Patil who was sitting on the other side of the room with several girls he recognized from Creatures. He watched the dark skinned girl scribble minuscule notes with well-practiced ease, her eyes never leaving Professor Binns. He noted that her long black hair was tied back with a red clasp bearing the seal of the Fire Nation, standing out in contrast to the blue of her uniform.

He knew that just like him the Patil girls had grown up in the Fire Nation, though much closer to the capitol than where Harry himself had spent his first few years, and yet Padma Patil was an airbender. Seeing as the Fire Nation had brought the Air Nomads to the very brink of oblivion just a few short centuries ago, he imagined with a smirk that things had to be rather tense at Patil family gatherings. But... on the other hand, it wasn't as if one of their parents had to be an airbender, right?

How could two twins be benders of different elements, anyway? Didn't the existence of Parvati and Padma Patil singlehandedly disprove all the 'BLOOD IS STRENGTH'-nonsense? They looked the same but were very different - Padma had always seemed much more proper and serious than her sister, and he knew that she was in all the brainy classes with Hermione.

_Could _you_ do the brainy classes if you wanted to? What would it be like to have a sister? What decides if someone becomes a bender?_

This was how his mind had worked all week - jumping from one thought to another before the first one was finished. Trying to stop thinking he stretched out his aching limbs and attempted to blink the burning feeling out of his eyes. His eyelids were growing heavy, and he almost felt tired in a normal way, rather than the empty way of the past days and nights. Perhaps this evening he'd be able to sleep, after all. And maybe - just maybe - he could have a dreamless night and wouldn't be tormented by the image of that door silently opening.

He watched the door to the classroom open and it nearly made him laugh simply because he was _just then_ thinking of a door opening! And then...

_Oh._

"Excuse me Mister Binns."

Professor Binns interrupted his lecture and turned to the door "It's 'Professor'," he said with a decidedly frosty air. "And do you mind? I am _educating_."

"And a fine job you're doing too, I am sure," said Barty Crouch, taking a casual step into the room. "But I'm afraid I have to borrow one of your students for a second, if you don't mind."

_Oh._

Through the buzzing in his ears Harry could make out Lavender whispering in an excited voice: "Oh, he's _lush_..." Crouch looked around the hall, taking in the students who were all on the edge of their seats, trying to get a clear view of the elusive Captain. Harry was not on the edge of his seat - he was trying very hard to melt into the floor and disappear like Dobby into one of his passages - but he thought he could sense Crouch's eye hovering over him a second longer than the others.

"I _do_ mind," said Professor Binns, "Whatever it is can wait until after my lesson has concluded."

"I'm afraid it can't wait," said Crouch. He didn't sound the least bit annoyed by Binns' words, but he also didn't seem to think there was any chance of him not getting his way.

"This is Hogwarts," said Binns, "not some dark alley in Republic City. You can't just do whatever you want here. Thousands and thousands of soldiers have tried to breach these walls over the centuries, and not a single one has succeeded."

"Well, I am not trying to invade," Binns said, chuckling lightly and showing his empty palms in a gesture of surrender. "I was invited."

"Right," said Binns. "And now I'm inviting you to get the hell out of my classroom."

Harry had never in his life loved anyone more than he loved Professor Binns at that moment.

"I am not a citizen of your Republic," Binns continued, ignoring the dangerous glint in Crouch's eye. "You don't have any authority over me, Auror."

"Oh, I know," said Crouch. "I've been informed of your allegiances, _your grace._" It was commonly known that Binns was descended from Earth Kingdom royals but that he himself had very little money or influence, and there was some snickering from the Slytherins. Crouch glanced over and gave the tiniest nod to Draco Malfoy. "But I should warn you that you might want to take care with what you say to these impressionable young ladies and gentlemen."

"Is that a threat?" Binns asked sharply.

"Of course not," Crouch said smoothly, "Aurors don't make threats - we give _warnings_. Usually just one."

"Hah!" said Binns, turning to the class. "Do you see the beauty of language now?"

Crouch finally seemed to be growing impatient. "I _will_ be having a talk with one of your students, Professor, and if you have a problem with it you may take it up with your Headmaster."

"Oh go on then," said Binns, losing interest very suddenly. "What do I care? These kids are all idiots; a few minutes more or less won't make a difference..."

_Ah, love is as fleeting as they say..._

"All right then," said Crouch, sounding a tiny bit surprised. "Harry, a word?"

_Was there ever even a question?_

The whole class was looking at him. Harry couldn't move or speak or think or anything at all. His skin was prickling, like he was on fire. Hermione gave him a questioning look that said _'what have you done?' _but when he wouldn't move she gave him a little shove and before he knew it he was walking down the steps towards the front of the class. His head was swimming and his ears were ringing, but to his amazement he did not fall over on the way down. Looking anywhere but at Crouch he saw the class watching him with great curiosity even as Binns continued his lesson, ignoring Harry and Crouch, who nodded at Harry as he reached the bottom of the stairs and then jerked his head towards the door before exiting.

Harry followed Barty Crouch out of the room but stopped just beside the doorway, incapable of going further. Crouch walked towards him with firm steps and Harry shied back against the wall, but Crouch did not attack him - he merely slammed the door shut.

"What a wonderfully aggravating man," Crouch said, smiling down at Harry.

Harry wished he was taller. This should not be the only thing on his mind at this time, but with Crouch looming over him it was all he could think.

"Anyway," said Crouch, slightly awkwardly, "How are you, Harry?"

"I'm fine," Harry said automatically.

Crouch raised a sceptical eyebrow and smiled knowingly, glancing down at Harry's clothes. Looking down himself he found that he looked almost as worn as he felt - his shirt had un-tucked itself at some point, and his tie was hanging loose again. He knew that his hair had gotten greasy and was sticking out in all directions, and he imagined that his face could not look much better. When was the last time he looked in a mirror?

"Look, I'm sorry we haven't had a chance to talk," Crouch said, taking a step away, and Harry allowed himself to breathe again, "but I've had my people keeping an eye on you."

Disregarding this alarming fact Harry tried to take in his surroundings. They were alone in the corridor, every sound amplified by an echo. There were torches on the walls, but it was day and they were unlit. The corridor was dim - no windows nearby and no doors either, except the one he was standing by. Binns voice on the other side of the thick door had turned into less than a murmur. Would they hear him if he screamed? He was trying to break down the situation, his mind racing through hundreds of different duelling tactics and techniques.

_And not a one of them worth shit if you don't have fire._

"Aurors stick together, Harry," Crouch said. "We take care of our own, and I won't have your dad thinking I'm not looking out for you. While I'm not here to deal with bullying - that's not exactly what they pay me for," Crouch chuckled to himself and Harry twisted his features into what he thought might be a smile, "my people tell me that you haven't been looking great, and I couldn't help but think back to that alley... Now, I may have been a bit dismissive, but it's a simple fact that you can't really do anything against the Malfoys."

On the back of Crouch's uniform there were eight metal capsules that looked a bit like thermoses, and Crouch reached up and pressed the top of one of these, opening it with a click. Harry knew from his father what some of those capsules contained, and he wondered what it would feel like having his face melted off by acid.

"However," said Crouch, "there's nothing stopping me from helping you out in other ways." He waved his finger in the air, and a trail of what looked like water floated out of the open capsule. He spun it in the air and smiled a conspiratorial smile at Harry. "Let me know when you've got some spare time, and I'll give you some tips on how to deal with a waterbender."

For a moment Harry tried to entertain the possibility that Crouch meant what he said. But then why had he singled Harry out in class, potentially making him even more of a target? It reminded Harry of McGonagall, forcing them to flare in front of each other and then telling them not to judge one another based on their flares. Were all adults idiots?

But no, meeting Crouch's eye he could not believe that this man did anything by accident. Harry had tried to keep a neutral posture but he couldn't remember ever standing so straight in his life. His fingers were twitching, and without even thinking it he had been trying and failing to summon a flame for the past minute. He could feel the sweat on his forehead. It was too much - to hear the sharp man speaking in that compassionate and gentle tone all while smiling that smile of his...

_That crooked smile._

Crouch was saying something else, but he did not stop smiling, so Harry did not hear a word. Harry's stomach was turning over violently, and he knew that at any second he might throw up all over himself.

"Mm," Harry said, as Crouch stopped talking and directed the floating stream of water back into his capsule and closed it with a 'click'. Crouch patted him on the arm, and to his own amazement Harry neither crumbled to the floor nor attacked. He just stood there, paralysed and useless.

And then Crouch walked away, whistling to himself.

Harry did not go back into Binns classroom, but rather he walked as calmly as he could in the direction opposite to where Crouch had gone. Stopping at the first door he listened through the wood and then opened it to find an empty classroom. He stepped inside and closed the door gently behind him. Harry took off his glasses and placed them on a desk, then removed his outer robe, balled it up and stuffed it into his mouth, muffling his scream.

He kept screaming until his throat was burning and when he opened his eyes he found himself on the floor, his knees hurting. Throwing his robe to the side he sat up on his haunches and struck his head hard twice then held his hands as if he was pushing something away, digging deep inside and trying to find the fire.

But there was nothing but blackness.

The buzzing in his ears was growing unbearable and he was covered in sweat and not the tiniest of flames appeared. Every muscle in his body was tense and he was starting to shake all over. Falling back to the floor he covered his mouth with both hands, holding in a scream that did not come. He sat there shaking until his heartbeat started slowing to something like a normal pace.

Feeling that his hands were wet he lowered them, wondering if it was tears or just sweat. His vision was blurry without glasses but on his hands there was something thick and black as ink that dribbled slowly down onto his white shirt. He touched his nose, wondering if it was bleeding, but no, there was only snot running out of it, and besides - the stuff on his hands was darker than blood, whatever it was. His stomach turned over again and he started convulsing. He slid to the side, feeling the cool stone come up to meet his forehead.

The convulsions came again and again; he was throwing up but nothing was coming out. Did he even eat that morning? Too weak to move he opened his eyes and saw the thick blur of blackness splashed across the floor, trailing away from his mouth. His stomach felt no more settled than it had, but the convulsions had stopped. In fact, everything was slowing down and a darkness was creeping in at the edges of his vision.

He knew what was happening and it made him break out in great racking sobs that stole the last of his energy and forced him unwillingly into unconsciousness.

_I'll dream the dream the dream the dream..._

But he did not.

* * *

_He was wrapped up tight, safe in a haze of warmth and sleepiness._

_But the perfection was disturbed ____as a sense of anticipation started creeping over him, because even though he couldn't think clearly he knew what was coming. ____Except... The feeling was not corrupted and perverted by the opening of a silent door._

___He rolled over and felt the prickle of grass against his face and in his mouth. Spitting it out, he opened his eyes and looked around. He was lying in the shade of a familiar tree, in a forest that was as different from the Forbidden Forest as was imaginable. The woods were thick, true, but they felt alive and sparkled with bright colours in the noonday sun. He was in a small clearing filled with an outrageous amount of round red pomegranate fruits._

___With a jolt he realized where he was. This was a secret place - this was _his___ secret place. It had started with his obsession with the juicy pomegranate seeds - he'd found this place where the trees shed their fruits early, and he would lie up against this tree-trunk and battle his way into the fruits before gorging himself to his heart's content. He'd come home with bellyaches that mystified his mother, because he always made sure to clean the red juices off himself in the nearby pond before heading home. With time it became something more than a place to stuff himself - it became a place he'd run to when he was scared or alone, li____ke when he'd first showed his mother that he could bend fire._

___She had been asking him for the hundredth time to wear a straw hat as protection from the sun, and he'd been squirming out of her grasp as she tried to fasten the string around his head. Exasperated, she tore at her long black braid, wailing that he would be sunburned._

___"No sun!" he'd shouted. "I burn!" and __he had smugly summoned a flame in his palm. He'd thought she would look pleased or impressed, but she just stared at him in utter shock, and his feelings had been immediately hurt. Not wanting his mother to see him cry he had run from the house and into the forest to his secret place, the same place he was now._

_He sat up against the tree-trunk and picked up a pomegranate fruit, tossing it up and down __experimentally. It felt heavy and ripe. Taking a small stolen knife from his pocket he cut a minimal incision around the circumference and then gently twisted the fruit apart into two halves, laying one half to the side and holding the other face-down in his hand. He reached to his side for a small flat stone and held it up high before starting to gleefully slam it up and down against the back of the fruit, making red seeds cascade out into his palm. He kept going until all the seeds were loose, then tossed the empty fruit-half aside and filled his mouth, lying back against the tree-trunk and savouring the crunchy seeds and tart juices. He breathed out a contented sigh, closing his eyes and wishing he could stay here forever..._

_But he was slowly becoming aware that he could not. He hadn't thought of this place in years - he remembered that it had been painful to leave it behind - but all the same there was a cold feeling creeping up the back of his spine, telling him that something bad would happen if he stayed. He did not want this place to become corrupted._

_Standing up he walked purposefully out of the clearing and into the forest, his heart feeling more empty with each step until the familiar sense of hollowness was back. He wanted to turn and go back, but he knew that he shouldn't. He was blinded for a second by a glimmering light that came through the trees, and a few steps later he was at the bank of the pond, its smooth surface reflecting the sun into his eyes. He looked down at his hand and found them covered in red juice, so he moved to the edge of the water, intending to clean his hands._

_There was someone in the water._

_At first he thought it was his reflection, but his mind reeled and the world shifted as he realized the truth: there was a drowned boy in the water. The boy was pale as a ghost, long dark hair flowed around his head and his fingers looked slightly swollen, but his eyes held more life than they should have. Harry raised his hand, intending to jump in and pull out the body, but to his surprise the boy shifted, mirroring Harry's move and holding up a hand, halting him._

_'No', said the boy, and despite the water Harry could hear the words as clearly as if they were whispered in his ear. 'Too late.'_

_Harry did not fear this dead boy; he simply felt overcome with sadness. The boy couldn't have been older than three or four years old. "I'm sorry," Harry said, feeling guilt as he had never felt it before and shaking his head at the thought of all the things the boy would never experience._

_The boy shook his head too, making his long hair flow this way and that, and Harry saw that he bore a strange scar on his forehead. 'You didn't hurt me,' the boy said, and Harry saw his own guilt reflected in the boy's eyes. 'I hurt you. Made you blind. Almost killed you. I'm sorry.' As he said 'blind' he covered his eyes, and as he finished talking he touched the scar on his forehead. Harry saw that it was jagged, shaped almost like a bolt of lightning._

_There was a deep rumbling sound, and the surface of the water rippled, warping the image of the boy. 'Leave me,' the boy said, sounding scared for the first time. 'Wake up now and open your eyes!'_

_"I don't know how!" Harry said, not sure what part he was referring to._

_'Then get help!' he the boy said, his voice becoming faint as the ground under Harry's feet vibrated and the pond splashed, twisting and distorting the drowned boy. 'Leave now!' he faintly heard the boy shout before all he could make out was the splash of water and the rumble under his feet._

_Harry did not know how to leave, or where to go. He started running back towards his clearing, his __secret place. At some point the sun had disappeared behind some cloud, and the forest that had been so inviting was now as dark and twisted as the Forbidden Forest. He thought he could see the trees shift and change shape before his very eyes, reaching out to grab him._

_'I'll be safe there,' he couldn't help but think, but when he reached the clearing it was not as it had __been. At first nothing seemed obviously wrong, except that he knew that it was no longer his place, but then he blinked and the trees around the clearing were taller, reaching up towards the sky and shutting him in like the bars of a cage. He tried to squeeze his way out, but the trees were too close together. Looking for escape he turned up towards the sky, and he realized that the sun had not disappeared behind a cloud after all._

_Because in the sky there was a face smiling down at him with a crooked smile._

_'Wake up,' Harry thought, in the voice of the drowned boy. 'This is just a dream.'_

_"Do you still want tips on how to deal with waterbenders?" the Crouch in the sky boomed in a voice that shook the earth, and suddenly a waterfall was flooding down the sides of Harry's cage, drenching him to the bone in an instant._

_He was already soaked, but the water level was rising, and fearing what would come next he tried to summon a flame into his hand, to beat away at the trees that enclosed him in his would-be watery grave._

_In an instant the buzzing was back and his stomach was churning again. Falling to his knees would not be good, since the freezing water was already waist high and crawling upwards inch by inch, but Harry found himself retching again, stumbling and splashing in the water as he tried to stay upright. His stomach turned over and he threw up something big that rubbed and scratched at his throat the whole way up. He started coughing and gagging as it finally left his body._

_Opening his eyes he expected to find black gall dribbling from his mouth, but instead he found that the buzzing that had been in his ears was now in the air, produced by the wings of a creature hovering just before his eyes. It was small and leathery, covered in black liquid that flew from it as it fluttered its wings wildly. About as big as his hand, it was something like a giant insect, but its twisted little face had no trouble expressing emotion, and it was giving Harry a perturbed look. The fear left Harry and he just stared, even as the water reached up to his shoulders. The creature showed its sharp teeth to Harry and made an annoyed noise that sounded something like "narrrrgle", and then they were both covered by water._

* * *

Harry opened his eyes.

What he saw was a blurry stone floor and a blurry classroom turned on its side. Sitting up slowly the world re-oriented itself and he was relieved to find the ceiling above him and the floor below. He would not have been surprised if the floor had turned sideways and dumped him out a window or some shit, because honestly, he wasn't afraid or angry any more, he was just very confused.

Taking stock of his surroundings he noted that everything was dimmer now, the windows throwing a grid of shadows and dull light across him and his surroundings. Taking stock of _himself_ he found that his headache persisted, he was soaked in cold sweat and he was very thirsty, though the thought of food made him queasy. There was no trace of black stuff on the floor or on his shirt.

He sat up in a lotus position and spent some time watching the blurry rows of desks, considering whether he should beat one or two of them into splinters with his head.

He remembered McGonagall's offer of help, and considered bursting into her office and explaining all his woes. He couldn't quite picture it - the thought did not seem very realistic. Even if she didn't have him sent off to some insane asylum then - what? McGonagall would wave her hand and all would be well? No, he wouldn't - couldn't - go crying to a teacher for help.

_"I wonder if you've ever asked anyone for help in your life..." _

That is what the girl Luna had said. She had offered to help him too, although how the strange little girl could do so had been left unclear. But what was it she said?

_"Are you upset about the Nargles buzzing around your head?"_

He wished it had felt like a normal dream, but it hadn't. It had felt like _the_ dream. And that meant that he couldn't disregard any part of it, not even the strange creature that had... emerged towards the end. Luna had been odd, but he had a feeling that he could tell her everything and she would believe every word. Maybe that just meant that she was as crazy as he was, but still... There was something about her that he could not put into words, but it made him want to talk to her again. Maybe he could just find her and open his mouth and it would all come flowing out? Who'd believe her if she repeated any of it, anyway?

He heard the door open with a click, but didn't bother turning around or getting off the floor. A female voice made a slightly startled sound.

"Harry Potter," said the girl, her voice tinged with amusement, "didn't I tell you - what, less than a week ago - that I didn't want to find you hiding in any broom cupboards, empty classrooms, etcetera?"

Harry turned and although he couldn't make out any details beyond her long black hair he had a suspicion as to who it was. "I'm sorry," he said in a remarkably calm voice. "I can't see you. Could you please hand me my glasses - they should be on a desk nearby."

"Hm," the blurry girl said, looking around and then walking to a desk and snatching something up. She moved in a familiar graceful way, her feet barely touching the ground. "I suppose there's no girl with you this time, so that's a plus." The voice was chiding, but in a teasing way more than anything else.

"It's not like it's after curfew," Harry said, though he honestly couldn't be sure, "And prefects only patrol at night,"

"True," the girl admitted. "But I'm sure there's some other classroom you should be in right now, since the rest of my class will be here in a minute... I guess I don't have the authority to punish you right now. _Oh well._ Sigh... But if you're gonna skive off why do it in classroom?"

A delicate hand holding his glasses came into his field of focus, just before his eyes. He took them, put them on and looked up to see the piercing dark eyes and dimpled smile of Cho Chang. At close quarters like this it was impossible to not take in her effortless beauty, and at any other time he would be blushing and tripping all over himself, but right now he didn't feel anything at all.

Cho's smile faltered as he met her gaze. "Are you alright?" she asked.

_I'm fine._

"Do you need any help?"

_Say "I'm fine"!_

"Harry?"

"Do you know a girl called Luna?" Harry asked.

"Luna _Lovegood_?" Cho said, looking completely taken aback.

"I don't know," Harry admitted. "I suppose so. She's in your House."

"Well, yeah," Cho said uncertainly. "She's a third year."

"Where is she?" Harry asked.

"I - um..." Whatever help Cho had been offering she clearly didn't have this in mind. "I don't know, she's probably in class? She's not in my year, I don't know her schedule..."

"Right." Harry said.

"I'm sure I'll see her in the common room later, I suppose I could give her a message," Cho said, crossing her arms and not meeting his eye.

"No, thank you," Harry said. "If I don't find her now I'll..."

_KILL SOMEONE._

"...then there's no point," he finished lamely.

"Well," Cho said, uncomfortably, "If you need her _now_ I'm not sure a schedule would help anyway. Half the time she doesn't show up for class - I don't think people notice, mostly, but Professor Flitwick asked me to keep an eye on her when I was..." she trailed off and tapped her prefect's badge.

Harry stared at the floor, trying to think.

"And here I thought it was that redhead you were hiding from," Cho said.

"It was," Harry said, once he realized that she was talking of the train.

"Oh, Harry," Cho laughed. "What a tangled web you weave!"

"When's the last time you saw Luna?" Harry asked, looking up and cutting off her laugh.

"Well," Cho said. "At lunch I guess... I saw her leaving the Great Hall just as I went in."

"Did she take an apple with her?" Harry asked.

"Yes," Cho said, surprised. "How did you -?"

"Then she's in the forest," Harry said, more to himself than to Cho.

"What?" Cho said, sounding alarmed. "She's not - she can't do that!"

Harry stood up finally, and closed his eyes for a moment as the the world teetered. "It's alright," he said, walking past Cho and to the door. "I'll get her back to the school."

"Harry!" Cho called out, half amused and half annoyed. "I'm a prefect, remember? I can't just let you wander into the Forbidden Forest."

Harry stopped, his hand on the door-handle. "So how are you gonna stop me?" he asked as calmly as he could, turning back to face her.

Given the state of his bending he really hoped that Cho wouldn't choose to challenge him. He had watched her closely in the championships - too closely, perhaps - and knew that while her airbending wasn't the most powerful she had a finesse and grace that put her above the rest. She always went far in her year's championship, confirming McGonagall's thesis of control being more important than power by putting her opponents off-balance and using their strength against them.

There were probably a hundred ways she could use her airbending to keep him in the room if she wanted to, and given the way she moved in the duelling circle there were probably a hundred more ways she could do it without bending the tiniest puff of air. Harry had neither power nor control - all he had was desperation.

But as he met her gaze he saw something shift behind her eyes. He hadn't told her everything - he hadn't told her anything, really - but she seemed to sense that this was more than some petty quarrel that needed to be resolved.

"But it's dangerous," she said. "If Luna's in there then we have to tell Flitwick or Hagrid or -"

"Please don't," Harry said and then he left, closing the door behind him before Cho Chang had a chance to answer.

* * *

The forest was more frightening, but he was less frightened. Last time he had been here the sun had been shining bright - now the skies were grey and the shadows were darker. Last time he had been here he'd been afraid of the monsters that might be hiding in those shadows - now he was only afraid of the monsters that might be hiding in his mind.

His conviction that Luna was in the forest and that he would find her was, he could admit, completely illogical, but that did not diminish it. He had spent years suppressing his instincts, but this time he had decided to listen, and they were telling him that he needed to talk to Luna and that she would be in the forest, so here he was, trudging down Hagrid's path to the shed.

"Harry Potter?" someone said, and he jumped, looking into the forest on the side of the path.

It was Luna Lovegood. He had found her within minutes of entering the forest. Trying to take this in stride he walked off the path towards where she was sitting cross-legged on a flat stone, and he heard the clear sound of something moving away through the forest. He also thought he saw a branch bend and snap back as if something invisible rushed past. He ignored all this and walked up to Luna.

"Harry Potter," Luna said again, her eyes wide with surprise.

"I need help," Harry said.

Luna gave him a smile that said 'I thought you'd never ask'.

* * *

It did _not_ all come pouring out once he started talking. Every little piece of information he gave up resisted, tried to force its way back down his throat, but piece by piece he told Luna about losing his ability to summon fire.

"I think it might have something to do with my, um, chakras," he said, scraping at the bark of a tree and not meeting her eye. "Trelawney talks about those sometimes, though she's not very clear, but I've read some books so I know a little."

"Like what?" Luna asked, still sitting calmly on the stone and giving him her undivided attention even though Harry kept fidgeting and moving around.

"They say there are seven points that your energy flows through on its way through your body," Harry said. "And they can get clogged or blocked up or whatever. It's like chi-blocking, sort of."

"You think you need some un-clogging?" Luna asked.

"Maybe," Harry said. "I don't know how, though."

"How long would you say you've been clogged?" Luna asked.

"I told you - since the first night back, the opening feast."

"Hm," said Luna. "That's quite specific. How are you so sure that's where it started?"

"Because before that I could bend?" Harry said, growing impatient.

"Well..." said Luna, looking away from him for the first time in over ten minutes. "More or less." She continued before he could ask what that meant: "I don't know much about chakras - I know more about Nargles."

"What _are_ Nargles?" Harry asked, thinking back to his dream. "It sounds like a made up name."

"All names are made up," Luna said. "I was the one who made up this one."

"So they don't exist," Harry said, pinching the bridge of his nose. The buzzing in his ears had come back.

"I have had to make up a lot of names, Harry Potter," Luna said sternly. "That does not mean that Nargles do not exist. You might not see but I'm sure you hear them." Luna then made a loud buzzing noise that harmonized with the buzzing inside his head, and Harry blinked and stared at her.

"What are they?" Harry asked.

"Whenever you think that you're not good enough, or that you should hide what you are, then you create a Nargle. I've never seen an infestation as bad as yours."

"Well," Harry said, feeling sceptical and creeped out at the same time, "how do you get rid of them?"

"Usually I'd proscribe 'positive thinking'," Luna said, making quotes in the air, "but I think we're quite beyond that in this case... There is a way I might be able to get them away from you, but I don't know if it would be the right thing to do."

"Why not?" Harry asked. "I'm a firebender, I need to be able to bend! Otherwise, what am I -" Harry broke off, realizing how much he sounded like his father.

"Because it would only be a temporary fix," Luna said. "This would be a first step, but if you didn't take your second one you would not get anywhere in the long run."

"Right," Harry said, eager to agree to anything.

Luna gave him a stern look that reminded him of how his mother looked at him whenever he'd disappointed her. "I mean it, Harry," she said. "You can't just do this and think it'll make everything better. In many ways, it will probably make things worse..." She trailed off, a sad look on her face as her gaze fixed on his forehead.

What with all the worrying he'd been doing over the past few days he thought that his forehead might well have been invaded by wrinkles, but when his hand moved up and rubbed at it of its own accord it found only smooth skin. "Why do you keep looking at my forehead?" he asked.

"Which chakra," Luna asked, touching her own forehead, "is here?"

Harry tried to remember one of the older books he'd read during one of his nights in the common room. "It's either 'light' or 'illusion'," he said.

"Illusion," Luna said, nodding to herself. "And what about here?" she touched her stomach.

"Fire," Harry said, instantly. He had read and re-read that part several times.

_'The fire-chakra, located in the stomach, deals with willpower and is blocked by shame.'_

"Come here," Luna said, patting the surface of the stone in front of her.

"Um," Harry started, looking sceptically at the wet stone and at Luna's already mud-splattered robes. Even though it had started to rain gently he had so far managed to keep his robes more or less clean. Glancing back at Luna he found her smiling at him, as if she saw what he was thinking and found it ridiculous. Harry sat down.

Luna leaned forward and put one hand on each side of his face, forcing him to meet her gaze. "I'm going to try to open your eyes," she said. "Do you promise you won't try to close them again? Even if the things you see are frightening?"

"Sure," Harry said, quite distracted by her eyes, which were enormous at close range. They seemed to be reflecting an abnormal amount of light, her irises a silvery grey hue. She didn't look like she believed him, or she saw that he didn't fully understand, but she smiled all the same. Luna closed her eyes and Harry blinked distractedly.

Then Luna took a slow deep breath and kissed him.

The first thing Harry felt was panic. _What had he done?_ What does - when did - _what_? Her lips were small and soft, pressed firmly against his, freezing him in place. Even though it was gentle she was somehow like a sailor breathing life back into a drowned friend, and he felt something invisible pass from her and into him like that vital puff of air.

A wind blew through Harry, making every part of him tingle. At first he thought that this was just a reaction to being kissed - he did not have much to compare with, after all - but as the wind swirled and focused on his face he knew that it was something different, because while he had been blushing a second before that heat now turned into something much more and he was sure that if he looked into a mirror at that very moment he would have seen his face boiling and bubbling.

The heat focused further, centring on his forehead and becoming as piercing as a ray of sunlight to the eye after a long dark night. Images were flashing before his eyes now_ - the boy in the water - a chamber engulfed completely in flames - a pebble rolling across the ground._ He couldn't move and was starting to panic, but a million miles away two small hands were holding his head, keeping him grounded.

All the other images dimmed as Harry saw two men, one a teenager and the other in his thirties. They shared the same handsome features and their hair had the same dark brown tinge, but they were different in many ways. The older man wore an Auror's uniform with pride while the younger wore dark grey robes, the kind meant for skulking in shadows. The older man looked confident; dominant and powerful, secure in the knowledge that he - _not his father_ - would be the one to make his name and his bloodline soar to new heights. There was a coldness hiding inside him that had been cultivated, controlled and groomed to perfection, and it repulsed Harry to no end.

Harry turned to the teenager. He had seen this boy so many times, but never truly realized how young he was. Usually he was watching Harry with a crooked smile on his lips, but now his eyes were closed, and Harry could see much that he had been blind to before. He saw that the boy was eager to prove himself - that he held within him a potential that not everyone could see but which gave him great pride and hope for the future. He could see that the boy was eager to step out of the shadow of his father and that he had a little voice whispering in his ear, telling him to do things that he was not sure he had the guts to do. The teenager opened his eyes and looked right back at Harry. This was the man who had killed Harry Potter so many times in his sleep, but Harry could not be afraid. It was no more or less frightening than looking into a mirror, and a second later the image was swept away by a wave of fire.

Harry had a sun blazing right at the centre of his forehead. The heat was not painful, but it made him realize that for the past few days - _no, longer_ - Harry had not truly felt the sun. _This_ is what the sun should feel like - purifying and energizing!

He sank deeper, into a place where a barrier made of a million dark wings was buzzing, struggling to contain a great fire. Last time he he'd been here the fire had been like molten lava, slowly moving and shifting, but now it was near erupting, and the creatures were afraid. There were so many of them and their job had been easy during the night, but after night comes day and as sure the sunrise the fire rose, scorching and charring a thousand of the creatures into ashes. The rest panicked, broke their formation and scrambled, looking for an escape, swirling away from the fire, which rose larger still. Harry could feel his teeth vibrating as the creatures screeched and buzzed their way past him, heading up, up, up...

Harry opened his eyes and his gaze was met by two enormous silvery eyes that seemed to be searching desperately for something inside him.

"Luna?" Harry said, but he cut himself off as he felt a stinging pain in his stomach, as if something sharp was moving around in there. Looking down he found that that was exactly what was happening. His shirt was bulging outwards in tune with the bubbling of his stomach and he felt something like talons scrape along his insides. Tearing his shirt open he watched in horror as his flesh shifted, as if something would explode out of it at any second.

"Harry," Luna started, holding him tighter. "Do not panic."

But panicking seemed like the perfect thing to do in this situation. Harry struggled out of Luna's grasping hands and stood up, then stumbled and fell back to the ground as he convulsed and felt an almost ridiculous amount of pain. Something inside him needed to get out, _now_. The something started to move, boiling and scratching its way up his throat, and a sudden jolt of energy shot him onto his feet, his legs planted wide apart and his arms thrust out and down. He threw his head back as his mouth opened so wide that he thought his jaw would crack.

And he watched as what looked like a great black cloud shooting out a steam pipe exploded out of his mouth and into the air. It went on and on, the pain in his throat unbearable but his stomach feeling more relaxed by the second. He couldn't have said how much time passed, but it seemed like an eternity before the stream stopped as suddenly as it had started and he slumped to his hands and knees on the ground. He was exhausted, but he felt so light that he might float away. Looking up he stared at the black cloud that blotted out what little daylight there was left. It was the noise - the buzzing and clicking of a hundred thousand wings - that made him realize what he was seeing.

_Nargles._

Feeling dizzy he dropped his head back to the cool wet moss that had already soaked through his trousers. He thought passing out might be a good course of action at this point...

"Harry," someone said, and small hands lifted his head from the ground. "You will tell yourself that you were hallucinating or half-asleep or feverish," Luna said, "and I don't want you to listen. Look at them."

Harry did as he was told.

They were small black creatures somewhere between bats and insects. And they were real. The huge flock swirled through the air, confused and panicked, trying to reorient themselves in this new environment. It was raining more heavily now, but there were so many of them that only half the drops from above passed through the cloud of creatures. He stood up next to Luna, staring, and as he watched their movements shifted and changed, became more ordered and focused. He had a creeping suspicion that they were reacting to his gaze, looking back down at him. They moved in controlled patterns now, large intersecting figure-eights that made his head spin.

"Oh dear," said Luna.

Harry tried to speak but his throat was too raw. He couldn't look away from the angry flock of creatures that were spinning faster and faster above. "What?" he managed to croak weakly.

"I didn't quite realize how determined they'd be," Luna said. "I think they're homesick."

Harry looked down and saw that her face was as impassive as always, but her tiny fists were clutching at his robes and she was shaking from head to toe. She looked so small and something about her posture got to him. He shoved her towards the path and the castle, hard enough to make her stumble.

"Get out of here!" he yelled hoarsely, knowing in his gut now that he wouldn't ever leave the woods, but determined that she should.

Then he turned and ran, hoping to lead the Nargles away from her, and by the sound of angry buzzing it seemed to be working. He leapt between trees, through bushes and scrambled down a hill, ignoring his pain and exhaustion and the branches and twigs that snapped and slashed at him.

For a minute he escaped from the shadow of the flock and the dusky light was no longer shattered by the fluttering of dark wings above. Nor was the rain impeded, and it fell down on him in a torrent as he ran. But they were too fast, and the buzzing returned, increasing slowly until it seemed to be vibrating the whole world. Desperate, he tried to increase his pace but grew careless and as he jumped over a small hill in the middle of a clearing his foot got caught on something and he was sent tumbling into the mud without the energy to spring immediately back up.

He turned onto his back and looked at the mass of creatures that hadn't quite caught up yet but which were streaming across the sky towards him. Something deep inside shouted at him to stand up and fight, even if there was no point - _especially_ if there was no point - but Harry just watched as the Nargles converged and thickened into a single stream of black and shot down towards him like an arm made of midnight, coming down to snatch him away forever. Harry flinched and turned away; covering his face with his elbow but knowing that it would make no difference.

_This is for the best._

But nothing happened except that his tie jumped up and slapped him in the face, then started fluttering wildly in the gale that had come out of nowhere. He opened his eyes and saw a tiny figure standing on the small hill between him and the giant flock of Nargles, which had frozen in the air. Luna's hand was held high and her long blond hair was streaming up towards the creatures - she was summoning a great gust of wind that held the Nargles in place.

Normally changing the winds would wreak havoc on any flying creature's coordination, but the Nargles were not of this world, and they didn't seem inclined to follow its rules, so they were at a stalemate, frozen in the air just as Luna stood frozen on the ground. But there were countless creatures and they were growing angrier while Luna was just one little girl and she was growing weaker. The Nargles were about to break through, their attention now focused on Luna, who could not move an inch without allowing herself to be engulfed by darkness.

Harry could move though.

_If she dies here it will be your fault._

And now Harry was flying through the air - not away from the Nargles but towards them - one arm raised and his throat in flames as a howl flowed from his mouth. He brought his fist down, and along with it came a ball of fire that toasted a hundred Nargles into nothingness and broke the rest of their formation into a cloud of snarling panicked beasts.

Luna fell to the ground and Harry jumped to stand protectively above her, watching the circling Nargles carefully. They were furious, and there were still thousands of them, enough to blot out the sky and what was left of the daylight. But Harry had a light of his own now - he could feel it bubbling, not deep down but right there at the surface, pressing to get out, scorching and tingling his entire body from the inside.

A group of Nargles swooped down towards him - Harry raised his hand and they died in a flash. He sensed something behind him and turned, sweeping his arm in a cutting movement that sent a razor-sharp diagonal flame into the mass of creatures that had swooped down low to get him from behind. The flame scattered the group and continued into the woods, slicing through several trees in precise cuts before dispersing. That move should have left him exhausted, but he just felt exhilarated as smoking bits of wings and tails fell to the ground all around him and trees creaked and crashed to the ground.

They were frightened now, and a cleverer bunch would have tried to flee, but they merely hesitated.

_Time to go on the offensive._

Harry raised both hands and spun, taking care not to step on Luna, who looked to be passed out. From his hands flowed two streams of fire that twisted into a spiral as he increased his pace; a spiral that flowed and widened around the clearing. Harry stopped spinning but directed the fire to continue and increase its pace until it became a cage of fire stretching far into the sky, trapping the Nargles inside.

The creatures were terrified now, breaking their formations and panicking, but it was too late to get away, and Harry felt himself smile as he slammed his hands together, closing the spinning wall into one compact column of fire. A thousand screeches of pain could be heard, and then the fire was gone, and so were the Nargles.

The rain fell hard now, beating down on him, and Harry felt his mind growing foggy. There was a heaviness in his heart that he could not explain - it was as if someone very close to him had died, but he could not remember who. Dazed and confused, he did not know what was happening anymore, only that he still, impossibly, felt the fire roaring inside him, trying to force its way out. By all rights he should have passed out from that last move - he didn't think he'd ever managed to produce a fire close to that size before.

_Yes you have. Once._

Harry slapped himself, forcing that thought from his mind and sending him stumbling down the hill. He spotted a Nargle hiding in the branches of a tree and raised his hand. Seeing the cowering creature explode into flame along with the whole tree felt very satisfying, so he went on looking for more of them.

_There's one - there - there - there!_

In no time at all he had destroyed the remaining Nargles and flames were dancing all around him, but it did little to relieve the pressure he felt inside. Rainwater ran down his face but he knew from the shake in his breath that he was crying. He had been able to ignore the unexplainable grief until now, but it overcame him and he let out a howl.

There were no Nargles left to destroy, but the trees around him were bars, keeping him in this prison, and the rain was a waterfall, attempting to drown him, so he lashed out at these. He threw waves of fire that set the trees aflame and he struck at the air until the haze of steam and smoke of fallen and burning trees mixed and muddled the air. He kept going until he was running on fumes, empty inside, but he could not stop striking at trees even when his flames became weak and his fists became bloody.

He felt a prickling at the back of his neck as if someone was watching him and he spun around, ready to lash out. Luna was standing up, still up on the hill, but she was looking off into the woods - it wasn't her gaze that he had felt. It was the gaze of a four-legged creature that stood just outside the clearing, unconcerned with the fire blazing all around it, solemnly watching Harry. It was not a creature he'd ever seen before - skeletal and black as the Nargles, with large wings folded up at its sides. It looked a bit like a horse, and a bit like a skeleton, and a bit like a dragon.

_"I have had to make up a lot of names, Harry Potter."_

Harry looked around and realized the full extent of the destruction he had caused. First off, his robes had been torn and burned to tatters, and there was actual _smoke_ rising from him. The ground was scorched and dead all around, and even though the rain was thundering down it did nothing to dampen the forest fire - it only prevented the flames from spreading further. There was a creaking and he turned to watch an ancient tall tree topple over and fall to the ground, spewing sparks up everywhere.

Through the smoke he could make out dozens of the horse-like creatures standing just outside the clearing, every one of them watching him with their white expressionless eyes, and he realized that this was - _had been_ - the place where he first met Luna. This was the clearing that the creatures she named Thestrals called their home, and he had destroyed it for no reason at all. Looking back into the woods Harry saw a small Thestral, the size of a dog, huddling next to its mother, and he felt ashamed. The destruction had felt good - it had relieved some of his grief - but the feeling came back now and combined with his shame, and he fell to his knees, tears blending with the rainwater once again.

He felt small cold fingers clutch his face and once again he was forced to meet Luna Lovegood's gaze. Her hair looked strange, soaking wet and plastered down, but she seemed unharmed. "It's okay," Luna said. "It's going to be okay."

"I -" Harry croaked, but his throat still hurt, and on top of that he was crying. He gestured to his chest, where the empty feeling was, as if Luna would understand.

Luna shushed him and wrapped her arms around his shaking body, and he couldn't stop his head from falling onto her shoulder. It felt strange to be comforted by someone so small and seemingly fragile, but he could not deny that it helped a little. Feeling a strange tickling on his fingers he leaned back from Luna and looked down to see the small Thestral standing right beside them. The creature should hate him - attack him or flee from him - but instead it was licking the blood off of his knuckles.

"I'm sorry," Harry said to it. "I don't know why I did that."

The creature seemed as unconcerned with his words as it was with the fire that surrounded them, and it merely kept nuzzling his hand, its warm tongue bringing some life back into him. Up close he could see the strong build of its leathery wings and the firelight dancing in its milky eyes, and he imagined that most people would call these creatures sinister.

Harry tried to understand why he had kept going when all the Nargles were gone, and his mind jumped back to the dream of the drowned boy and the clearing speckled with pomegranate fruits. The image of that clearing had been very vivid, and now that he was awake it put him in mind of once buying pomegranate juice at Florean's coffee house in Diagon, but... In the dream that clearing had been a place he'd gone to often - it was the place he'd run to when he'd shown his mother that he could bend fire, and she had only stared at him, anxiously tugging at her long black braid.

_Except..._

"What are you thinking?" Luna asked gently.

"Nothing," Harry said distractedly.

"Liar," Luna said, not unkindly. "Do you really think that anything you say could scare me off?"

Except hadn't Lily Potter found him in his bedroom back when they lived in the Fire Nation - found him afraid and crying with his bedclothes going up in flames all around him? Hadn't she waved a hand and dispersed the flames, then picked him up and hugged him tight, comforting him with soothing words as he buried his face in her hair?

"I'm thinking," Harry said, his throat burning with each word. "That my mother does not have black hair. She has red. And she never wore a braid."

"And what else?" Luna prompted.

"And pomegranates do not grow in the Fire Nation," Harry said.

Luna grinned, and behind her another tree crashed slowly to the ground, throwing up sparks to dance and twirl in the twilight.

* * *

**And there we go.**

**Okay - maybe there weren't all that many _answers_, per se, but hopefully it feels like we're getting somewhere?**

**Yes, I changed Binns. A lot. Because history is important, dammit! The die-hard Avatar fans can probably guess who Binns' grand-uncle was.**

**This was a long chapter, more than twice as long as the one before, and it got pretty trippy in parts, so I'm glad you made it all the way through! I'd be interested to hear what you think of the chapter and what the heck you think is actually happening, haha...  
**

******Next chapter will be called Duelling Class, and yes, Harry will duel.**

**Reviews are appreciated!**

**- The Sorting Cat**


	6. Duelling Class

**Author's Note: That last chapter pushed us past both fifty reviews and fifty favourites, for which I am grateful! Before writing this chapter I had to take some time to re-watch bits of the original series in an effort to get the fighting right, so hopefully it shows.**

* * *

**Harry Potter: The Last Avatar**

**Book 1: Water**

**Chapter 6: Duelling Class**

"Wake up, Potter!"

Potter did not want to wake up. Potter wanted to stay in this warm soft place where he did not have to move or think. It was a very nice place, and he was reasonably sure that he'd never find it again if he left.

"You're gonna be late," he heard someone remark. "Normally I wouldn't care, but after skipping out on half a day of classes? And with _this_ teacher? Nah, I wouldn't risk it."

Harry slowly made his way back to the realm of the living. He found himself surrounded by wonderful soft pillows and blankets and _oh it was glorious_. There was an ache in his bones, but it was a fairly pleasant ache, quite different from the sharp stab-yourself-in-the-skull ache that he'd been experiencing for the past few days. The pleasant feeling was somewhat diminished when he opened his eyes and found Ron Weasley holding the curtains around his bed open and watching him with a smirk.

"Hey," Ron said, laughing, "don't look at me like that! If it wasn't for me you'd been woken up and interrogated last night - _I_ told them to back off. You should thank me, really!"

"Thank you," Harry croaked, finding his throat extremely dry and breaking into a coughing fit.

"No problem," Ron said, either ignoring Harry's sarcasm or not noticing it. He walked over to the largest windows, the curtains of which were still drawn even though the dorm was empty apart from the two of them. "I thought you could use it, what with your early mornings and late nights..."

_Well, well... Ron Weasley is more observant than you give him credit for._

Harry had gone to bed early each night, then sneaked down into the common room when he was sure that all the others were asleep, but apparently he hadn't been as subtle as he thought. Deciding not to comment he slumped back against the pillows. He knew that, presumably, he should be getting up and dressing and so on, but he had just enjoyed his first undisturbed night of sleep in a very long time and rather than feeling invigorated he felt soft, his mind soggy and greedy for more sleep.

And then Ron Weasley opened the curtains and sunlight fell directly on Harry, piercing his skin and dancing through his veins. His heart felt like it had doubled instantly in both size and strength, and without even thinking he sat up and stretched, exposing more of his bare chest to the bright rays.

"That's the spirit," Ron said with a snicker, "though you might wanna get dressed!"

Harry looked down at his bare chest, noticeably scrawnier than Ron's build, a fact that years of sharing a room had already made him painfully aware of. Sitting up at the side of his bed he put his glasses on and then reached for his uniform shirt, but Ron interrupted his efforts with a tutting noise.

"What _are_ you doing?" Ron asked, arms crossed, watching Harry with amusement.

Harry's fingers twitched, the sunlight calling out to him.

_You could throw him out that window quite easily..._

"Hm?" Harry said, because Ron had spoken again but Harry had not heard a word.

Sighing, Ron flipped open Harry's trunk with his foot and crouched down to start digging through it. Before Harry could decide how to stop this from continuing Ron stood up and flung a mass of red cloth at Harry, who caught it instinctively. It was his duelling robes; dark trousers and undershirt with a red tunic to go over it all, allowing a much freer range of movement than their regular black uniform. Glaring back at Ron, who was still rifling through Harry's trunk, he realized that the other boy was also wearing his red and gold robes.

_Right. Duelling Class._

The technical name was Applied Defence but everyone called it Duelling Class, and their first lesson of the year would take up most of the day. Ron tossed Harry's goggles onto the bed, and Harry looked at them despondently. He hated wearing those things, but it was impossible to duel without them...

Ron slammed Harry's trunk shut and threw a pair of duelling gloves on top of the robes Harry still held in his lap."If that's some way of getting out of class," Ron said, gesturing towards Harry's hands, "then you should know that from what I hear of Moody it's not going to work."

Looking down at his hands Harry found his knuckles torn up and caked in dry blood. Last night he'd had the energy to clean them - and to clean himself, something he'd been neglecting lately - but he had been too tired to care about wrapping them up, and they had obviously bled in the night. He wished he could wrap them now but he still didn't have any bindings at hand and there was no time to visit Pomfrey. Looking down at the leather gloves, an old unused birthday gift from James, he realized that he'd have to wear them. They were fingerless and bore the seal of the fire nation on the back, and he found them rather ridiculous, but they were better than explaining the state of his hands to Hermione.

"Better hurry up, Harry, or we're gonna be late," Ron said.

"Shouldn't you leave then?" Harry asked, sighing and struggling into his duelling robes, which were getting fairly old, their colours lightly faded.

"No rush. Plenty of time really," Ron said absently, completely contradicting his previous words as he sat on Neville's bed and checked his fingernails for dirt. Harry noted that Ron's robes were damaged by use as well as age, lightly singed around the golden trimmings. Of course on Ron it looked dashing rather than tatty.

Neither his nor Ron's duelling robes were anywhere near Harry's uniform from last night, which he had deemed a "lost cause" as well as "evidence", thinking that people were likely to have noticed the forest fire. Harry had tossed the uniform, except his shirt and trousers, into the inferno and watched them burn before sneaking back to the castle with Luna. Harry peered out the window and grimaced at the sight of smoke still rising from the forest, though the rain had obviously put the fire out.

"So," Ron said, not looking up from his nails. "What did Crouch want?"

_Ah... _

That was why Ron was here, talking to him instead off flirting with Lavender Brown or joking around with Dean and Seamus. That's why he'd stopped the others from waking him up and interrogating him last night, if that had even been true - it was because he wanted the inside scoop all to himself.

When Harry remained silent Ron started offering up theories: "Did the Aurors catch you skipping class?" Harry did not respond. "Some say he was escorting you to a detention because you won't go whenever McGonagall orders you."

"The Aurors don't work for the school," Harry pointed out, quite surprised that anyone would think of him in that way.

"Well then," Ron said, "did they catch you sneaking around the school at night? I mean, stop me if I'm getting warmer here! The tower is all a-buzz! I even heard one third year speculating that you'd been up to _illicit activities _with an unnamed Hufflepuff girl in a broom cupboard!" Ron laughed as if the thought was ridiculous, which it was, of course, but Harry still resented the way Weasley always kept people down with his jokes. "The caught-after-curfew theory's pretty popular," Ron said thoughtfully, "though I bet it would be even more popular if your nightly excursions were common knowledge." Ron Weasley was still smiling, even as he delivered his threat.

Now fully dressed, the sun warm on his back, Harry found with mild concern that he was actually looking forward to Duelling Class, where an opportunity to wipe that smile off Ron Weasley's face might very well present itself.

_I wonder if I could beat him as soundly now as I did in first year._

Harry found himself grinning back and they battled with smiles for a moment before Harry decided that it was probably best to give away some little piece of the truth.

"He used to work with my dad," Harry admitted. "He was just checking up on me."

"Was he now?" Ron asked. "That's friendly. Work close, did they?

"They were partners," Harry said, pulling on his duelling gloves experimentally. They fit perfectly, but made his knuckles ache.

"Really?" Ron said, and the sparkle in his eye told Harry that he'd said too much. "You know, some people say Aurors who work the beat together form bonds tighter than blood... You gotta imagine - saving each others' lives every other day, looking out for each other in every way - they're practically brothers at this point. And that sort of makes Crouch an uncle of yours..."

Harry felt sick.

"And now he's head of security at Hogwarts," Ron continued, speculating to himself. "That," he said decisively, "must come in handy." And as they exited the dorm Ron threw an arm over Harry's shoulder and laughed, alarming Harry considerably.

* * *

They were not late, although it was a close thing. Noting the time Harry remarked that they probably had to skip breakfast, which made Ron laugh and pull an apple from a pocket, handing it to Harry. Apparently Ron had already eaten. Harry crunched into the apple, narrowly preventing a groan of pleasure from escaping his lips as the juices spread through his mouth. The last meal Harry remembered was breakfast two days ago but he supposed he must have eaten something since then, even though it sure didn't feel like it.

The moment they stepped outside he felt invigorated. The rain of the night before had left nothing more than a hint of freshness in the air and the sun shone down from a cloudless sky. They entered the Duelling Grounds, passing through a gap in the long lines of wooden bleachers that circled the square field. An arena of sorts, the Duelling Grounds consisted of six circles painted in white lines on the manicured grass, speckled with rocks and large cauldrons of waters, giving ammunition to earth- and waterbenders.

Most of their year was already there - a group of forty odd students standing at the edge of the field, the separation between houses even more obvious than usual because of the colourful duelling robes. Harry tried to spot Hermione in the crowd, but walking in at Ron's side meant that all the Gryffindors _except_ Hermione conglomerated around them, which made his escape difficult. On top of that people were actually speaking at him...

"What's up with Crouch, man, what did he want?"

"What did you _do_?"

"Are you gonna be expelled?"

"What colour are _his eyes_?"

"Hey, hey, give the man some space," Ron said, mock-pushing away Seamus and Lavender and holding his hands protectively on Harry's shoulder as if he was some sort of celebrity and Ron was his bodyguard. This would have been fine if Ron's hands on his shoulders wasn't the most unnerving part of all.

"You're not in trouble, are you, Harry?" Parvati Patil asked.

"Um," Harry said.

"Of course not!" Ron replied, shaking Harry in an affectionate manner. "In fact, it's probably gonna be pretty hard for Harry here to get into _any_ trouble at all this year, eh?" He gave Harry a wink.

"Um," Harry said again, trying not to notice everyone's raised eyebrows at Ron's cryptic words and his sudden familiarity with Harry. A silence spread over all the students before Harry could think of anything to say; the only sound that could be heard was a light thunk, coming again and again. Harry looked around and saw that Mad-Eye Moody was approaching the class, his prosthetic leg thudding against the grass as he trudged across the field.

Moody reached them and took a moment to take in the assembled fourth-years, looking thoroughly displeased with what he saw. He was a wide man, most of him hidden inside a worn and torn trench coat, but his rough features and scars combined with his perpetually starting glass eye to make an overall terrifying first impression. Harry had heard a hundred and one stories about Moody and practically all of them sounded impossible, but taking him in now Harry had no trouble believing every single one.

"Being an Auror used to mean something," Moody growled, glaring at his silent audience. "I'm not talking about honour or some such shit - I'm talking about the fact that if you made it to your old age you knew you'd be taken care of. Now they're taking any half-baked bender off the streets, shoving them into uniforms, calling them 'Aurors' and paying them with money that should be going _to me_." Moody paused for a second and a few students exchanged looks. "Would I have been so eager to do the great Republic's will, and to pay the price," Moody tapped his fake eye, producing a 'ting' sound, "if I knew that I'd have to spend my golden years coaching a no-doubt untalented useless bunch of brats?" He gestured at the gathered class, in case it wasn't clear to whom he was referring, then shrugged. "Who knows!"

Moody pulled out a book from somewhere inside his trench coat and looked at it. "If I sound a bit miffed - if I'm not my usual pleasant self - then it's because I spent some hard earned yuans on this _thing_," he held the book into the air, revealing it to be Lockhart's _The Rules of Engagement_, one of their course-books from last year. "I was sorely tempted to seek out this person and getting my money's worth... but I don't have that magic Auror's badge any more and people might ask questions if Mister Lockhart didn't make it to his next book-signing because of extensive internal bleeding."

Lockhart had been a favourite among the girls and several of them looked rather shocked, but Harry caught just as many boys exchanging satisfied smirks. Moody was flipping through the book now, and he sighed, reading aloud: "'What is the first rule of engagement?'" And now, of course, Harry found Hermione in the crowd - previously hidden behind some burly Hufflepuffs, her hand now shot into the air, possibly only on pure instinct since the question had been more or less rhetorical. Moody noticed and raised an eyebrow, but indicated that she should speak.

"The first rule of engagement," Hermione recited, "is to not use any objects or materials outside your designated duelling circle, excepting air channelled from outside the circle, which is permitted."

Moody looked into the book, presumably reading the exact same words on the page, and then closed his one working eye in exasperation, making his staring glass eye seem even more grotesque.

"I'm sure," Moody growled, "that many of you have been ruined _beyond_ my help," he glared at Hermione, who blushed, "but to the rest of you I'd like to clarify that this," he gestured around him at the entire Duelling Grounds, "is _my_ field now, and while you're on my field the first rule of engagement is _whatever I say it is_. Incidentally it's also the second rule and the third rule and so on - I'm hoping you get the idea."

Moody turned his back on them, looking out at the field and the six circles. The class took this opportunity to exchange some hushed whispers - several people sounded offended, others sceptical, but Ron, Seamus, and quite a lot of the boys from every house were looking like they might wet themselves with excitement.

Their whispers were interrupted by a rumbling sound and a shaking of the ground, and everyone's eyes flew back to the duelling circles. Something like a localized earthquake was making the entire field collapse in on itself. The class watched in shocked silence as Moody, arms raised, proceeded to reshaped the field into a new design, formations of rock shooting out of the ground and indentations into the ground becoming ponds as cauldrons flew back and forth to the lake, dumping water into the holes created by Moody.

"He's a metalbender!" Harry heard Dean whisper to Ron.

"Well, duh, all the old Aurors are," Ron whispered back, trying to sound nonchalant though his gleaming eyes did not leave Moody.

As a final touch Moody circled his fingers in the air, dropping a trail of white gravel to form the boundaries of larger duelling circles than had been there before - four rather than the original six - and enclosing them all within a larger circle that took up the whole field. Moody clapped the dust of his hands and surveyed the result of his work along with the astonished class. All within the span of a few minutes Moody had created a fully formed rocky landscape, leaving no trace of the carefully mowed grass field that had been there earlier.

_Filch is going to be pissed..._

Moody turned back to them. If he hadn't had their full attention before then he certainly had it now - you can't help but listen to someone who reshapes the world so casually.

"Those circles," Moody said, "were too small, and too empty. I've been told that Lockhart only trained you in one-on-one scenarios, and that's all well and good if you're looking for a career in some Earth Rumble arena, prancing about for the crowd, but this course is called _Applied Defence_, and in the real world people do not bow first and shake hands after, and they definitely don't play fair. You can be attacked by any number of people at any time, and if you're lucky you might have someone to guard your back, but most often you'll be outnumbered and need to think outside the rules to win. Fights are won _here_," he concluded with emphasis, pointing to his head.

"The larger circle is for group engagements," Moody said, "but we're going to start simple because I need to see what bad habits you have and how hard I'll have to be to break them. Pair up."

Ron clapped Seamus on the back and Lavender and Parvati paired up, and Harry slunk away from the group towards Hermione before Dean could decide if he'd rather fight him or Neville. When he came up to Hermione she gave him a rather miffed look, and he smiled weakly in return, thinking that perhaps it wasn't so smart to select her as a duelling partner when her frustration with him had been building for days.

As if the universe was listening in on his thoughts Moody scanned the crowd, taking in who'd paired with who, and then proceeded to form them into completely new pairings, making sure not to put anyone with the person they'd selected themselves and crossing the lines between houses seemingly at random. This caused some murmurs since Lockhart had always allowed them form their own pairs and their sparring had been friendly at worst, often not amounting to more than tossing things back and forth using their bending.

Harry found himself paired with Mandy Brocklehurst, a Ravenclaw girl he knew from Creatures but had never really spoken to. He gave her a nod which she stiffly returned, looking quite unhappy about being torn away from her duelling partner of choice.

Moody briefly informed them that today the only way to win was to immobilise your opponent or force them to touch the ground outside your duelling circle. He said that he "would prefer it" if no one died and clarified that no, knocking someone unconscious did not win you the duel unless you remember to secure them in some other manner "or throw their body out of the circle, I suppose..."

He then directed the first four pairs to approach the circles and stomped his non-prosthetic foot to the ground, raising himself on a pillar of stone ten feet into the air, giving him a clear view of all the circles. Harry looked over the field, imagining how the new landscape would change things. With the ups and downs there'd be more space to take cover in, or even hide from your opponent for a while.

A blast from Moody's whistle simultaneously started the four duels and Harry could tell that everyone was quite unfamiliar and uncertain with their new surroundings and their new teacher, some adopting the same cordial type of moves that Lockhart had taught them, almost _taking turns_ to attack and not utilizing their surroundings in any way at all. The one exception was Draco Malfoy, who calmly outmanoeuvred his opponent and blasted him from the ring with a strong stream of water from one of the new ponds.

As Malfoy rejoined the class he looked directly at Harry, a challenge in his eye, and usually Harry might have shied away but today, with the sun beating down on him, he found himself smirking right back, the fire inside him rising up until it was waiting just inside the tips of his fingers. Seeing Malfoy's brutality and noting that Moody did not reprimand the boy, as Lockhart would have, the crowd started buzzing, taking the whole thing more seriously, and the following four duels were much more interesting to watch. As they stood and waited for their turn Harry found himself glancing over at Mandy Brocklehurst, evaluating his opponent.

_She's twitchy - she'll be light on her feet, easy to knock off balance. But that's normal for airbenders; she could use it to her advantage and be almost impossible to target. Wide area attacks would be best, but if she avoids them it will exhaust you in the long run._

He needn't have worried.

When the time came he slipped off his sandals and carefully placed his glasses on one sole, blurring everything for a moment before he pulled down the goggles to sharpen his vision and tint the whole world with a light green. Together he and Mandy marched into their circle as indicated by Moody and stood a dozen feet apart, bowing to one another more out of habit than anything.

As Moody's whistle rang out Harry threw a few quick fireballs at her, testing the waters, and she deflected them by summoning a large wind and spinning it around her body as a shield, dispelling Harry's flames. Dispersing fire in that way was hard work, and Harry's fireballs had turned out larger than he'd intended, so Mandy was already tired. She was rather stout for an airbender, and perhaps she wouldn't be good at moving quickly and dodging after all, but an easier way of dispelling Harry's fireballs would have been to cut them apart or redirect them with gusts of air or to -

_Move, you idiot!_

Harry only just managed to avoid an attack, dodging the air-whip intended to trip him up by twisting and stepping behind a nearby rock. He took a few shallow breaths, scolding himself for losing the advantage - he'd been standing there thinking, rather than acting, as usual. Peering out from his cover he saw Mandy standing still, uncertain whether to run for cover or attack, and so he took the opportunity to pelt her with another series of fireballs. She dodged and weaved and the fire exploding against the grounds threw up rubble and smoke that blocked her from his view.

Harry ducked back behind his rock, considering for a moment. He was reasonably confident in his hand-to-hand skills, even if he was probably very rusty, but inside the gloves his knuckles were still aching, so he was trying to think of a way to end the duel without going into close range at all.

_Don't think - do!_

Harry grabbed a hold of a ridge in the stone he was hiding behind and climbed on top of it; a move that could have made him a target if his opponent had been more aggressive, but as he expected his higher ground gave him a view of Mandy hiding behind a stone formation and gathering her strength.

Intending to scare her out he sent a fireball towards her cover, but again the flame came out larger than he'd intended - the rock was blasted into pieces and Mandy was pushed away by the blast, staggering towards the edge of the circle. Harry was rather worried that he'd injured her, but he noted that she was steadying herself with a gust of air, so she couldn't be too badly hurt.

_Finish her._

Without even thinking Harry jumped down and stomped his bare foot to the ground, sending out a flat line of fire that sped across the ground and reached the staggering girl, scorching her feet just as she found her footing and sending her flying into the air with a yelp. She had time to slow her fall by pushing air towards the ground, but no time to change her direction, and she struck the ground outside the line of white gravel.

The duel had lasted less than a minute, and Harry had won.

Mandy got up, her feet obviously quite sore, and glared daggers at Harry who felt rather awkward as they bowed and walked back to the class to watch the three other duels still in progress. Harry took the opportunity to sidle up next to Hermione, who kept her eye fixed on the duels. Time went by and when everyone had duelled once Moody called out new pairs from his pillar and ordered them to get back on the field. It did not take long for Harry to realize what Moody was doing.

"He's only picking people who won their first duel," Harry whispered to Hermione. "It's a tournament!"

"Well, _obviously_," she said, not looking at him.

"It's almost like a miniature of the Championship," Harry said, talking mostly to fill the silence since Hermione clearly wasn't going to, "except much faster since there's several duels running at once rather than spaced out over the whole year, hah..."

"Is this really what we're talking about?" Hermione said, turning to him at last.

"What?" Harry said. "I'm just -"

"You haven't said a word for days, and now this?"

"Well," Harry said awkwardly. "What do _you_ want to talk about?"

"How about," Hermione said fiercely, but keeping her voice down so the nearby Hufflepuffs wouldn't hear, "you tell me what the hell has been going on for the past few days? How about you tell me why the _Captain of the Aurors_ pulled you out of class and you disappeared for the rest of the day?"

_Not you too, Hermione..._

"How about," Hermione continued, "we talk about how I'm such an idiot that I skipped dinner to go and look for you? How about why the hell I had to hear from _Lavender Brown_ that Seamus Finnigan said that you were in your dorm?"

Even though she tried to hide it with anger he could plainly see the confusion and hurt in Hermione's eye, and he didn't like it one bit, but all the same - how could he tell her what was going on when he didn't have any clue himself? How could he explain to her about the forest without making her think that he was completely insane when he _himself _couldn't even think back on it without thinking the same? No, his throat felt _fine_ now, thank you very much, and so the events of last night could be filed away in the rather large part of his brain that contained all the things he just _did not_ think about...

"What is happening, Harry?" Hermione asked, and Harry almost panicked as her angry facade broke and he saw unshed tears glistening in her eyes. "What's wrong?"

"I'm fine," he found himself whispering, trying to placate her. "Really, Hermione, there's nothing wrong!"

"Liar," she said, reverting instantly to anger and rubbing forcefully at her eyes before glaring at him. "You have not been sleeping _at all_, have you?" she hissed.

"Um -"

"Yes he has, Hermione" Ron said, appearing out of nowhere and clapping Harry on the back. "I practically had to drag him out of bed!"

Hermione eyed Ron's hand around Harry's shoulders and looked like she wanted to keep arguing, but apparently she didn't want to air out their dirty laundry in front of Ronald Weasley, so she just huffed and crossed her arms, staring straight ahead at the duels.

"Trouble in paradise?" Ron whispered in Harry's ear, and Harry ignored him.

* * *

After the first round the casual or untalented duellers, like Mandy Brocklehurst, had been weeded out while everyone who'd actually competed in the Championship last year were still fighting. So was Harry, and so was Hermione, after taking out some aggression on some poor Hufflepuff girl.

Harry watched Draco Malfoy freeze Susan Bones in place with ruthless efficiency just as Ron Weasley with his wilder style overpowered Vincent Crabbe and laughed as the brute stumbled and fell from the circle. Of course Weasley and Malfoy were the cream of the crop - there was a reason the two of them had faced off in the Championship finals last year - and nearly everyone else duelled without confidence, or were confident but simply made stupid choices.

"That's enough of that..." Moody said, sinking from his pillar and approaching the assembled class after four particularly pitiful duels that had involved Neville Longbottom and Megan Jones hiding behind different rocks at the opposite ends of their circle for a good five minutes. "As pitiful as your one-on-one skills are I'm sure that your group-work will be even poorer. Still, I have to see it, so we're doing two-on-two.

"Potter," he said, and Harry shied away slightly as the class directed its attention towards him. "Let's see if you're as useless as your father." Moody crooked a finger and Harry uncertainly walked to the front of the group. "You," Moody said pointing at Kevin Entwhistle, who broke off his conversation with Hannah Abbott and looked completely gobsmacked, "will team up with Potter." He jabbed a thumb at Harry, who made an attempt not to look too displeased.

"And you'll be up against..." Moody said, his eye travelling leisurely over the rest of the class. "Malfoy and Miss Textbook over there," he pointed out Malfoy and Hermione.

_Fantastic._

The four of them lined up in front of Moody as he addressed them, explaining that they'd be using "the large circle," meaning that the entire field would be their battlefield, which was staggering in and of itself, considering its size. Harry tried to catch Hermione's eye but he had no luck. Malfoy was only too happy to catch Harry's eye and smirk, highly pleased with this turn of events. Harry glanced to his other side where Kevin Entwhistle stood, looking entirely too casual, wiggling his eyebrows at some girl or other.

And then Moody was directing the two teams to their starting positions at opposite ends of the field, and trying again to catch Hermione's eye he saw her and Malfoy starting to talk in hushed voices the moment they were out of earshot.

"Well," Kevin said, "which one do you fancy taking on?"

"I think there's a bit more to it than - " Harry started.

"No wait - we should both focus on one of them, Malfoy probably, and overwhelm him - and _then_ take out Granger!" Kevin said, clapping his hands together, marvelling at his own brilliance.

_And why the hell would they let us do that?_

Neither Hermione nor Malfoy were probably thrilled about being teamed up, but they were both competitive people and both of them had enough sense not to split up and allow themselves to be taken out one by one. Harry did not particularly want to fight Malfoy, but the thought of facing off against Hermione was much worse. It was true that he'd originally tried to pair up with her, but that had been when he thought they'd be doing the 'Lockhart' brand of sparring which would have allowed them to talk and smooth things over, rather than the 'Moody' brand of sparring which was more likely to involve them breaking one another's bones.

"Do you think you can focus on Hermione, and I'll focus on Malfoy?" Harry asked.

"I don't know," Kevin said sceptically, "Malfoy's pretty tough; _I_ should probably be the one to take him on."

"Listen..." Harry said as they reached their designated starting spot behind a low wall of rock. He peered around it, not seeing any trace of Hermione or Malfoy, but knowing in a general sense where they were, hiding behind similar rock formations a good hundred yards away. "I _can't_ fight Hermione right now, I just can't."

He turned to find Kevin's eyebrows raised high. "So you two are...?" he swirled his fingers together in some gesture Harry did not care to decipher at this very moment.

Harry gritted his teeth and very nearly used the old familiar 'it's not like that'-line, but he held his tongue, figuring that if he wanted to communicate here he'd have to speak Entwhistle's language. "Well," he said, shrugging, "you know how it is."

"Well, well, Potter," Kevin said approvingly, clapping Harry on the shoulder. "Nicely done, mate - she looks like a real firecracker! Don't worry, I'll keep her occupied for you," he laughed, "keep her warm, eh?"

_Idiot._

A second later Moody's whistle blared and they stared at one another for a moment before Kevin smirked and ducked out from their cover to the left side and moved towards the centre of the field. Harry stood frozen. They should have formed more of a plan!

_Well, it's too late now - move!_

Harry ran to the right, moving from cover to cover and glancing at Kevin, who was doing the same. Harry arranged his own path so their progression turned into a pincer manoeuvre that might let them surround the other team and come at them from two sides, if they were lucky. Glancing over at Kevin he had to admit that the boy was fast - his feet barely touched the ground as he used airbending to increase his pace, the wind flying through his hair and making his bright blue robes flutter. All airbenders were graceful, but many also overestimated the freedom their powers gave them, thinking that the sky was a safe place to be, and Kevin turned one of his sprints between covers to an unnecessary leap, flying high through the air...

_Making himself a target._

Harry was not surprised when a bout of flame struck out at Kevin, narrowly missing the Ravenclaw boy and forcing him to redirect his energies to landing without injuring himself. Identifying the source of the fire Harry saw Hermione, her red tunic a blur as she advanced on the spot where Kevin crash landed. Should he head towards them or - ?

_Heads up, Potter!_

Harry spun to the side narrowly avoiding a shard of ice flung at him like a spear. Getting his guard up he blocked another two shards flung in rapid succession. Usually he would have avoided an attack like this, but they were too fast and he let his instincts take over, two large bouts of flame shattering the spears before he had time to think.

He localized Malfoy not twenty yards away, advancing on him with an intense focus in his eye. In the other duels Malfoy had moved with casual efficiently - now his every move breathed urgency. In one fluid movement Malfoy had a stream of water rocketing out of his pouch and coming right at Harry, who stepped to the side and avoided it more easily than he should have been able to, the water splashing to the ground behind him. Harry retaliated by punching out a large ball of fire, but they stood far apart and Malfoy had ample time to draw water from his pouch and block the attack, creating a swirl of steam.

_Go into close range!_

Advancing would benefit him since he could summon fire out of thin air while Malfoy had to redirect his limited water-supply to meet his attacks - at least as long as they stayed away from the nearby pools of water... Throwing another ball of fire to give himself a moment to think Harry glanced over at Kevin and found to his slight surprise that he and Hermione were locked in hand to hand combat and seemed evenly matched. Harry ignited two large flames in his hands and advanced on Malfoy, who was backing away and looking uncharacteristically scared, doing some strange motion with his hands; hugging himself again and again in apparent fright.

_He's bending, you idiot - there's water behind you!_

Harry blinked and turned in time to see a whip of water - reformed from the water that Malfoy had splashed to the ground - lash out at his legs. Harry tried to avoid it, but he'd been too slow to turn and his legs were swept out from under him, sending him crashing to the ground.

_Protect yourself!_

Harry spun on the ground, sending fire from his foot and shattering the spears of ice that had indeed been flying to pin him down. Jumping back to his feet he had a moment of satisfaction in noting that Malfoy had come closer in order to form his ice cage, and Harry had time to leap into the air, intending to deliver a kick to Malfoy's chest, before the other boy smiled and swept both his hands to the side.

A tidal wave of water came out of nowhere and flung Harry up and across the field. Spinning through the air he had a moment of panic, thinking he would land outside the circle no matter what he did, but looking down he realized that he was falling directly towards the largest pond on the field.

_Balance yourself with bouts of flame, then send a stream of fire down towards the surface of the water to slow your fall and in case he forms a hand of water to pull you under - then change your direction with a large blast, aiming it back towards your opponent for good measure!_

But Harry did none of those things. He only curled into a ball and a moment later he was submerged in freezing water, a million bubbles shooting up all around him as he sank deeper.

_You really are useless, aren't you?_

Breaking his paralysis he swum frantically upwards, reaching for the surface. His head cracked through the thin layer of ice that was forming, but a second later the ice had thickened, and a horrifying coldness spread across his skin as he was left with only his shoulders above the surface, the rest of him frozen in place. He saw Malfoy, arriving at the side of the pond with a look of intense focus, weaving his hands and thickening the ice that held Harry in place.

"I yield," Harry said, but Malfoy did not hear or did not care, only pushed his hands downwards, causing a great cracking sound as the ice holding Harry loosened and submerged itself under the water, taking Harry with it. If it had been night and he had been dreaming, then this was the point where the darkness would rise up to claim him.

_Water - water - sinking - sinking..._

But this was not night, and the only thing rising up within Harry was rage. This was day and though he was underwater he still felt the sunlight shining down on him, infusing him with power in a way that it had not done in years. No, this was not the dream, and Malfoy was not some monster - he was just a little shit who needed to be put in his place.

The water all around him was cold, the ice on his skin colder, but there was a heat inside Harry. He had been trapped in a cage of ice - once too often he had _thought_ rather than acted - but he was burning, and no cage could hold him. Slowly at first he felt the grip of ice lessen, and then -

_Up, up, up..._

Harry was in the air, ten feet above the surface of the water. Droplets were flying upwards all around him from the force of his movement, and steam exploded from the flame that had propelled him to this height. Draco Malfoy was gaping at him.

_Propel self towards opponent with stream of fire._

Harry propelled himself down towards his opponent with a stream of fire.

_Strike at solar plexus._

Malfoy was caught off guard and thoroughly winded, but he shifted his weight and got his guard up, blocking Harry's next strike, then spinning and lashing out with a kick that Harry ducked underneath. Engaging in hand-to-hand combat - a flurry of blocks and parries - Harry felt the air shift and realized that he was being surrounded. He did not like the feeling of having someone behind him.

In an unconventional and therefore unexpected move Harry grabbed Malfoy's tunic and his leg and flung the boy over his head towards the new opponent. Malfoy missed the second attacker but was out of the picture for now, and Harry lashed out; a punch laced with fire streaking at his opponent. He did not stop there - his enemy was still moving, after all - but rather he struck out three times, his first two strikes finding their mark but the third one blocked with precision, and then fire was coming towards him - towards Harry.

_No._

Harry blocked a kick, dispelling the flame that came along with the foot and holding onto it, locking his opponent in place as he delivered a punch straight to her face. Letting the foot go and allowing her to stagger back he swept both his arms into a wave of fire that turned out large - exactly the size he had intended - and engulfed his opponent.

_Finish her._

The stream of fire flowing from his hands was roaring in his ears and the heat and light stung his hands and eyes, but his opponent was holding it back with her hands, so he pushed for more power and let the sunlight fly directly through him. He felt a brief taste of victory as his opponent buckled to her knees and then -

A wall of rock erupted from the ground just in front of Harry and he spun, guard up, to take in the sight of a new attacker speeding towards him. This one used earthbending to streak across the field, upending the ground in his rush. Harry was about to make a move when he found himself knocked backwards into the wall by what appeared to be a huge clump of dirt. Harry was completely winded and could only watch as more and more earth tore itself from the ground and piled up against him, keeping him from drawing breath and holding him to the wall.

Harry was about to panic - could feel something boiling up inside him - when his attacker stopped and slowed, his rush across the field turning into the hobble of an old one-legged man.

"That's enough, Potter," Moody growled, waving his hand and making the wall of rock sink into the ground before hurrying past him. Without the wall the pressure loosened and Harry was able to pull himself out of the mound of dirt that had formed around him. He staggered to his feet and turned around.

Hermione was cowering on the ground in a cloud of smoke. The earth around her had been blackened and charred and her robes were in tatters. Her nose was bleeding profusely and for a second Harry felt anger, thinking that he had to find whoever had done this, before he realized the truth and felt like he was being encased in ice all over again. There was an ugly red burn streaked across her face and she was looking at Harry in a way that she had never done before.

_I thought I knew all your looks._

Harry could not meet her gaze for long, and he looked away, the sound of his best friend whimpering enough to make him dizzy. Moody was quietly and quickly assessing the damage, ignoring Hermione's small sounds of protest. The fact that he was not telling her to suck it up was more than a bit worrying. Despite Moody's harsh words at the start of class no other duel had ended with a student being too injured to continue - if they hadn't been knocked out of the circle then victory had invariably come from one combatant capturing their opponent in ice or rock.

Malfoy appeared, looking bruised but more or less unscathed. He shot Harry an appraising look, then turned his attention to Hermione. "I know some healing," he offered, to Harry's surprise. "I could - "

"'Some' can be worse than 'none'," Moody said, but then Hermione's eyes closed and Moody cursed, barking at Malfoy to come closer. Harry watched in an odd detachment as Moody pulled out a hip flask and instructed Malfoy to use the purified water inside on Hermione's right cheek and on the fingers of her right hand. Malfoy did this, working the water into a glow and moving it against Hermione, who moaned and opened her eyes during the process.

"That'll do," Moody said, pushing Malfoy away and helping Hermione into a sitting position, then hauling her to her feet where she managed to remain upright though she looked rather dazed. "Make sure she gets to Pomfrey," Moody told Malfoy.

Draco threw Harry a look and cracked his knuckles and for a second Harry thought that the Slytherin boy would refuse. He noted that Kevin Entwhistle had been thrown from the circle by Hermione at some point, and his scrapes were now being cooed over by some girl, which meant that Harry and Malfoy were the only ones left in the duel, and Harry thought Malfoy might demand that they finish what they'd started, but instead he simply stepped up and steadied Hermione.

"I'll go with her," Harry said, his throat dry.

"No," Hermione said weakly, not meeting his eye, and Harry felt some small part of him die.

Malfoy and Hermione left and Harry walked dully back to the gathered class, who gave him a wide berth. He could practically hear the other Gryffindors thinking that this Harry was very different from the one fumbling to flare in Phoenix Hall. That last attack alone - the wave of fire that _he had set on Hermione_ - had been a lot larger than his so called flare, and yet he barely felt exhausted at all. Now they'd all think he'd been faking, just like McGonagall had.

_Good._

It was _not_ good. None of this was good. Harry's eyes were locked on the ground, and he thought Ron Weasley might have said something to him, but it did not matter. When he removed the goggles and bent to pick up his glasses he saw drops of dark liquid appearing the ground. He put on his glasses and raised his hands to see blood trickling down his fingers from his knuckles inside the gloves. But there was blood on the outside of the gloves too - Hermione's blood. On his hands. Hermione's blood was on his hands while she was being helped by Malfoy. It was absurd. Wrong.

_So do something about it._

He should be by her side, whether she wanted him there or not, apologizing over and over until things went back to normal. The heat of the day was making his head spin, the fire was still crackling and sparkling just underneath the surface, and he knew that he couldn't stand there and listen to Moody going on about group tactics and listing all the mistakes he and Kevin had made.

Harry's feet turned him around and started walking him towards the castle. Moody was calling after him, telling him to stop, but Harry only increased his pace, leaving the Duelling Grounds behind. He almost lost his footing when a wall of packed earth shot from the ground just in front of him, and a second later his shoulder was grabbed and he was spun around roughly.

_Twist out of grasp, roll to left, sweep low and attack prosthetic leg!_

But Harry allowed himself to be grabbed and he looked straight up over the rim of his glasses into the face of Moody, who was towering over him like another wall of stone. "Class ain't over, boy!" Moody said, his face contorted in anger. Close up there could be no questioning the appropriateness of the 'Mad-Eye' moniker. Moody looked something like a monster, but Harry was not afraid.

"I'm going, sir," Harry bit out, meeting Moody's gaze steadily, staring into that fake dead eye.

Moody blinked his one working eye and furrowed his brow, looking down at Harry's expression. Harry could not be sure how long they stood frozen like that, but eventually, to his surprise, Moody released the grip on Harry's arm. The Professor said nothing, merely lowered the wall of earth with a wave of his hand and watched Harry as he backed away and then turned to hurry on towards the castle and the Hospital Wing.

* * *

**Author's Note**

**Harry messed up. What do we think?**

**This chapter is the first part of a two-part story arc, so the next chapter will pick up exactly where this one left off, and it's already about 80% finished. Among other things it will feature more fighting, an irate Madam Pomfrey, and a long awaited rematch.**

**Thank you for reading. Reviews give me warm snuggly feelings.**

**- The Sorting Cat**


	7. That Little Voice

**Harry Potter: The Last Avatar**

**Book 1: Water**

**Chapter 7: That Little Voice**

"Oh, it's _you_... Well, what is it _this time_, hm?" Madam Pomfrey could stretch herself to quite a formidable height when enraged. "Don't tell me," she said, taking in the dirt that clung to Harry's robes, "'Professor Moody threw a hill at me'."

"Um, well..." Harry said guiltily, and Pomfrey's eyes widened.

"That _man_..." she said, snorting in disgust. "Did he truly say he would 'prefer it' if no one died?"

"Well," Harry said again, stretching to see around Pomfrey and deeper into the Hospital Wing, "it's better than preferring it to happen, surely?"

Pomfrey looked at him as if he had just shoved a lemon in her mouth. "Duelling is one thing, Mr. Potter, but _this_," she gestured to a bed at the far end of the Wing, with curtains drawn around it, "is just barbaric!"

Seeing no other beds occupied Harry figured the curtains had to be hiding Hermione. He mumbled something about not being injured, and only having come to visit a friend, but Pomfrey wasn't having any of it.

"You are bleeding, _again_," she said in an exasperated tone before forcing Harry to remove his duelling gloves, which came off to reveal quite a mess inside. "What _have_ you been doing?"

Harry shrugged and meekly allowed himself to be steered to a bed and sat down, knowing that there was no point in arguing with the matron. Pomfrey proceeded to clean Harry's knuckles with a wad of cotton doused in a liquid that stung his hands and his nose. She then pulled her hands through the air, lifting a stream of water from a container that stood by the bed. She manipulated the water to move up against Harry's knuckles and as it started to glow Harry felt a wonderful soothing sensation in his hands.

"Thank you, ma'am," he said when Pomfrey finally finished and Harry looked down to find new pink skin covering his knuckles. As Pomfrey stood back up she wavered slightly before steadying herself and lightly touching her temple. Harry had never seen the healer exhausted before and her mutterings along the line of "After the Granger girl... I _never_..." did little to lessen his worrying.

"I came to see Hermione," Harry said, because Pomfrey was looking him over speculatively, searching for more things to fix.

"Miss Granger needs to rest," the matron says sharply. "Not to be crowded by _boys_."

"Please," Harry said earnestly, "I only want to make sure she's okay."

"She will be..." Pomfrey said, taking some pity on him. "Very well, but your other friend will have to leave. One guest at a time!"

Harry nodded, though he had no idea who could be visiting already. He hurried towards the bed in the back, hearing voices and laughter from behind the curtains as he approached.

"Well," said a boy, "it was a choice between Healing and Sparring, and Sparring is the most useless class on the Hogwarts schedule!"

"Hah!" he heard Hermione exclaim. "You say that, but have you ever had Trewlaney?"

"Gods, no! How could you subject yourself to that?"

"I don't know, but I could. For about a _week_!"

Harry walked around the corner of the curtains to find Hermione sitting up in bed, looking a mess but laughing heartily along with the boy sitting at her bedside - Draco Malfoy. Harry felt immediately betrayed, but then again... had he ever told Hermione about his encounters with Malfoy last year? No, the only reason Pomfrey was so familiar with him was because he always made sure to remove any cuts and bruises that Hermione would ask about. Had he ever even spoken ill of Draco Malfoy in Hermione's presence?

Watching them laugh together he almost regretted keeping his mouth shut but looking at Hermione also made him wish the pain back into his hands. Did he have any right to be mad when he himself had done worse damage to Hermione than Draco Malfoy had ever done to him? There was a mark left by his flaming touch along her right cheek, the side she had turned against his wave of fire, and her palms were bandaged and smelled strongly of ointment. Her hands had held back most of Harry's flame - if she had been a weaker firebender he would have burned her to a crisp.

All the same, he did not like that Draco Malfoy had made Hermione Granger laugh and that her laughter died the second she saw Harry Potter standing there. It did not make sense.

"Harry," she said, looking at him intently. He had been afraid that she would not even look at him, but now he found that he was the one unable to meet _her_ eye.

"Pomfrey says you have to go," Harry said to Malfoy, who nodded.

"One guest at a time," Malfoy said knowingly, standing up. "Feel better," he told Hermione, giving her a brief smile before nodding at Harry and strolling out of the Wing. Harry watched him go, feeling slightly sick.

_What game is he playing?_

"What do you think? Is this a good look for me?" He turned back to see Hermione fluffing her hair, which had been chopped off unceremoniously just above shoulder-length. It must have been singed and Madam Pomfrey - _or Malfoy?_ - had evened it out. "You know, if you thought I should cut my hair you could have just _said so._"

"I - I'm so sorry," Harry said.

"Do you think I should just leave it or ask Parvati to try something? I'm sure she could spice it up, but it's impossible to talk to her without Lavender being involved, and that means there will be an awful lot of _opinions_ and _giggling_ and - oh, I just don't know if it would be worth subjecting myself to _them,_ but still -"

"Hermione!" Harry cut her off. "I'm sorry!"

Hermione did not respond or look at him; she merely drew her fingers through her hair, straightening her tousled brown curls only to have them spring back into their usual fluffy mess. She was getting the foul-smelling anti-burn ointment in her hair, no doubt. Harry wanted to do something drastic but he was frozen at the foot of her bed, listening to the silence stretch out.

"No point in apologizing," Hermione said, finally. "It was an accident."

"I did this," Harry said, staring at the burn-mark that streaked across her face.

"No," she said, touching the mark and suppressing a wince. "It wasn't you."

"Yes, it was," Harry said stubbornly.

"Have we not been over this? 'Hermione is always right' - say it with me now, 'Hermione is always right'!"

Harry made a frustrated sound and stepped forward to sit in the chair Malfoy had vacated, but his sudden movement made Hermione flinch, and he stopped in his tracks, feeling his heart drop to somewhere in his stomach.

"Don't be stupid, Harry," Hermione said, blushing angrily at her own reaction. "Sit _down_."

Harry sat down. He had thought Hermione would ask again about the things she'd brought up in Duelling Class - and on the way to the Hospital Wing he'd been certain he would tell her everything - but she did not ask and apparently she couldn't think of anything more to say about her hair either, because they sat in silence. For the first time ever he wished that she was a little more like Lavender Brown, who could undoubtedly talk about her hair for hours.

"Sorry I've been acting weird," Harry said. "It's just been... a strange couple of days. I've been a bit out of sorts. I'd rather not go into it, because -"

_Because there are things that should not be said out loud._

Luna had been easy - she was not a part of his world, and changing the way she looked at him would not mean a thing - but Hermione was the only person Harry could really be himself with. It was through her that he'd found the only identity that he enjoyed taking on, and when they were alone he could be a clever and fun-loving person that he couldn't really be around anyone else. And if he truly spilled his guts to her, how would she look at him? Who would he become?

"- because it's not important," he finished lamely. "But you're right, I haven't been sleeping much, and I haven't been well. At all, really. But I'm getting better..." He glanced up to find her watching him carefully, sitting very still as if he was a frightened animal and she did not want to scare him off. "But I shouldn't be talking about myself," he said with more force. "You're the one who got hurt, and I'm really sorry, and I didn't _mean_ to..." he looked at her injuries and trailed off, the lump in his throat shutting him up.

"Like I said," Hermione muttered, smoothing out some wrinkles in the bed covers. "It wasn't you." She raised a hand in a quick movement, cutting him off when he started to protest. "No, listen - I looked into your eyes and I did not see _you_. Don't you think I'd know? It was something else entirely, looking back."

Harry felt anger and shame and -

"Oh, don't give me that!" Hermione said in exasperation, taking in his expression. "It's not necessarily a bad thing!"

Harry looked at her as if she'd grown an extra head.

"It was very impressive," Hermione said, flushing slightly. "I haven't seen you move like that before. Ever."

"I hurt you," Harry said, trying to make her understand.

"You've got something inside you, Harry. You don't need to be afraid of it - you just need to control it. And you need to stop shutting me out."

"I just didn't want you to worry," Harry said.

Hermione laughed. "No, you just decided to _beat me up a bit_," she said. She was attempting a light tone but there was too much truth in her words.

"I've got it under control," Harry said.

Hermione raised an eyebrow at him and looked around pointedly at their surroundings.

"I'll _get it_ under control," Harry amended.

"See that you do," Hermione said, with much of her usual bossiness.

Harry reached for her hand, but she had not been ready and at his touch she jerked away, out of his reach. "I'm sorry," Harry said, quickly withdrawing his hand and looking at the floor. He felt a tug at his hand though, and looked up to find Hermione clutching it hard in her own.

"It's okay, Harry," she said. "This is only temporary. It will heal."

Harry wondered if she was only talking about her burns.

"I think your hair looks great," Harry said.

"Then I will have to subject myself to my wonderful roommates after all," Hermione said, smiling to herself, "because you have terrible taste, Harry!"

Harry gasped in an overly affronted manner, leaned away and clutched at his own chest. He had to push the rotten feeling down deep to be able to joke, but it was worth it to see her smile grow.

* * *

"Looks like it's not a Squib after all."

Harry had been wiping ointment from his hands onto his robes, but he felt them ball into fists at the sound of that voice. Looking up he found Malfoy leaning casually against the wall opposite the doors to the Hospital Wing, which Harry had just closed behind him.

"You've been hiding your claws for years," Malfoy said, tutting in disapproval. "Not very sportsmanlike to drop all that pretence just to have a go at your little Mublood girlfriend."

_Take him down right now._

Usually Harry would just walk away from Malfoy, but that would leave the doors to the Hospital Wing unguarded. "What are you doing?" Harry asked as calmly as he could. "Why were you talking to her?"

"Why, I was waiting for you, Potter," Malfoy said, checking his fingernails and reminding Harry strongly of Ron Weasley. "Had to pass the time somehow, didn't I?"

"And _why_ were you waiting for me?" Harry asked.

"To arrange the time of our rematch, of course," Malfoy said.

"I'm not going to fight you, Malfoy," Harry said.

_Yes you are. You are going to destroy him._

"Hermione is quite a pleasant girl," Draco said, conversationally. "You've been greedy, keeping her all to yourself." Harry could feel something unpleasant creeping up his spine, and his fire was responding, rising to the surface. He didn't like where this was going at all. "Not too bad a duellist either," Malfoy continued. "Well, her form is not bad, but she is slow - thinks too much. I'm sure I could take her:"

Harry clenched his fists harder and a few involuntary sparks flew from them.

"Struck a nerve, have I?" Malfoy asked, trying to suppress his glee.

"Listen to me," Harry said, taking a step towards Malfoy. "You will stay away from Hermione."

"Oh," said Malfoy, taking a step towards Harry, "but I have all this pent up aggression that I need to get rid of somehow. You won't duel me, but I'm sure your Mudblood can be more obliging than that. With the right persuasion I'm sure she can be very... obliging."

Harry wanted to believe that Malfoy was all talk, and he almost did.

_It doesn't matter - talk like that should be more than enough!_

"If I duel you -" Harry started.

"I'll make sure to use up all my aggression," Malfoy promised, a gleam in his eye.

"Hey!" someone shouted. "Lay off, Malfoy!"

Harry blinked and found that he and Malfoy were standing practically nose to nose in the middle of the previously deserted corridor. Neither of them had taken a duelling stance, but the tension was palpable. Malfoy's eye flickered to the side to see who was approaching.

_Strike now!_

"This does not concern you, Weasley," Malfoy said, as Harry ignored his impulse and followed Malfoy's gaze to see Ron Weasley walking towards them with a determined stride.

"Oh yeah?" Ron said angrily, pulling at the red of his Gryffindor duelling robes and then gesturing at Harry, who wore the same colour, and Malfoy, who did not. "Check again!"

Ron did not slow his gait as he approached and Draco unwillingly backed off, lest Ron should crash into him. Ron positioned himself next to Harry, both of them facing Draco, who was taking a more casual stance while the two Gryffindors were still highly tense. Harry was not soothed by Ron's presence; it may have been years since the redhead was as bad as Malfoy, but once upon a time they were equally horrible to him and though he should be willing to accept any ally he still had to suppress an urge to distance himself equally from the two bullies.

"What are you even doing here, Weasley?" Malfoy asked, sounding bored with the whole situation.

"Came to see Granger, didn't I?"

Harry frowned, hearing hurriedly approaching footsteps and glancing to the side to see Crabbe and Goyle coming around the corner.

_Don't let them surround you..._

His hand reached out of its own accord and grabbed Malfoy, who had been sidestepping to place Ron and Harry between himself and his goons. Pulling and pushing he shoved Malfoy towards the rapidly approaching Crabbe and Goyle - Malfoy stumbled a few steps but steadied himself quickly enough. Rather than looking offended or infuriated Draco Malfoy looked positively thrilled.

Malfoy's casual air was gone, swept away by Harry's uncharacteristic aggression, and he seemed to be calculating the odds of their potential confrontation. Ron, looking surprised but pleased with Harry's action, entered a duelling stance, as did Crabbe and Goyle, though they had rather bad form and Goyle visibly wobbled on his feet. Harry was rapidly trying to think of ways _out_ of the situation - duelling in the corridors might be something that could be magicked away by the Malfoy name (and the Malfoy gold), but the likes of Harry and Ron would certainly face expulsion. Though Ron Weasley seemed to have forgotten this...

"Come on then!" Ron shouted, waving a finger at the Slytherins. "Let's go, Malfoy. I'm ready for ya'!"

"I'm not interested in you, Weasley," Malfoy said, managing to sound bored despite every indication pointing towards chaos erupting in the near future. "Everyone knows that I can beat _you,_" he turned his attention to Harry even as a few angry sparks flew from Ron's flexing muscles, "You're the one who owes me a rematch, Potter."

_'Rematch'._

That was the second time Malfoy used that word. He hadn't asked for a continuation of today's unfinished duel - he had asked for a _rematch_. So what match was he talking about? Last year they'd had multiple _encounters_, but they'd all consisted of Malfoy attempting to provoke Harry - first alone and then with the aid of Crabbe and Goyle - and Harry had refused to strike back, so he was left mystifying Pomfrey with his bruises while Malfoy remained spotless. But they had fought once...

_It all comes back to Ron Weasley._

Harry shifted a glance to his side, taking in the redhead and how he looked so ready and eager to pounce at Malfoy. It made sense - Malfoy had beaten Weasley in the Championship finals just before the summer and Ron must be itching for a rematch. Harry had seen Ron Weasley look at _him_ in that same way during their entire second year, after the finals of the Championship in their _first_ year.

Usually the first year duels of the Championship were a mildly entertaining warm up before moving on to the real fights. The ickle firsties would look so cute, all dressed up in their ceremonial duelling robes, and they would toss sparks and puffs of air at one another until one fell over or the referee called it a draw. Sometimes there were exceptions though, and in Harry's first year there had been two - Weasley and Malfoy. Malfoy had obviously been tutored in duelling from an early age and though he lacked any real power he was clever and light on his feet, which was enough to get him to the semi-finals with ease.

Eleven year old Ron Weasley had been different. While Malfoy had known all the correct stances and every little part of the duelling ceremony, Weasley had simply been... scrappy. With a whole herd of older brothers, every single one of them a firebender, Harry presumed that he'd had to be. Harry had heard that the Weasleys grew up in Catchpole, one of the roughest districts of Republic City, where families were crammed into tiny apartments or simply lived out on the streets. Over the past few years a lot of new laws had come into place to help out benders who were in need and the Weasley patriarch, unemployed for many years, was now working for the government, so the Weasleys were moving up in the world. Still, there was something of 'the street' in Ron Weasley, and it showed in the Duelling Circle, where he dominated his opponents with ease.

It also showed in the way he dominated the other Gryffindor first years, and though he manoeuvred more with words and "jokes" than with actual violence, the threat was always present and the jokes were never kind. It was after finding Hermione crying in that second floor bathroom one too many times that Harry had decided that Ron Weasley needed to be taken down a peg or two.

Harry had not had any intention of participating in the Championship, despite the not-so-subtle encouragement he'd received from James, who had several of his too large old trophies on display in their too cramped little living room. But before Moody all the remotely serious duels took place within the Championship, and Harry had had a desire to beat Ron Weasley to a pulp in as public a venue as possible, so in his first year Harry Potter had entered the Championship. Without him, Weasley and Malfoy would most certainly have faced off in the finals, but they never got the chance because while Ron Weasley and Draco Malfoy had been pretty good for first years, Harry Potter, as it turned out, had been something else entirely.

He had wiped the floor with Ron Weasley in the finals, just as intended. It had felt good, and so had James' delight in placing Harry's small trophy centrally in the living room, but it had not had the desired effect of getting Ron to back off - if anything Weasley had shifted his focus to making Harry miserable for an entire year. Ron Weasley had looked at him in the same way he looked at Malfoy now - he had wanted his rematch.

It wasn't until the beginning of third year that Ron Weasley got his wish, and Harry was a different person by then. After second year Harry had become someone that Ron Weasley could run rings around, and his defeat at Weasley's hands was so brutal that even the concentrated dosage of parental pressure that James could exude was not enough to entice Harry into willingly entering another Championship again in his life.

All this ran through Harry's mind in a matter of seconds as he took in Ron Weasley, who looked ready to pounce at Malfoy right there in the corridor, consequences be damned. Harry shifted his gaze to Malfoy. The blond Slytherin was wearing exactly the same eager look as Ron but he wasn't meeting the redhead's gaze - he was looking straight back at Harry. In that instant Harry realized that there was another side to the story - an aspect that he had missed entirely until this very moment.

Back in first year a simple coincidence had meant that Harry wouldn't face Ron unless he made it all the way to the finals, which meant that he had to go through Malfoy in the semi-finals. It had been a short duel without much effort on Harry's part, and he barely remembered it, but meeting Draco's eye now, and seeing the hungry look in his eye, he knew for sure that the Slytherin boy remembered every detail of his defeat.

Malfoy had been more patient than Weasley - he hadn't bothered Harry outside the Duelling Circle until it became apparent that Harry did not intend to enter the Championship again. So last year Malfoy had started challenging Harry to duel, and only when Harry continued to refuse had Draco involved Crabbe and Goyle and begun abusing Harry in hopes of getting a rise out of him. Harry realized now that it had all started when Harry dropped out of the Championship, taking away the chance Malfoy had been waiting for since Harry defeated him so casually in first year. Malfoy still wanted that rematch.

_Well, he can have it..._

"This is not a Duelling Circle," Harry pointed out, forcing his body to relax and looking around the corridor like he was seeing it for the first time.

"That is true," Malfoy agreed, smiling and looking to the Hospital Wing doors. "It would be a shame to disturb Miss Granger, if nothing else."

Harry ignored Malfoy's comment. "The Grounds, then, tomorrow at noon?" He could sense Ron sneaking a sideways look at him but did not break eye contact with Malfoy.

Malfoy looked triumphant for a moment, but hid it behind a sneer. "When the sun is at its highest? Really, Potter, you think you need a boost?"

Harry shrugged. "Is that a problem? We can call it midnight if it makes you feel better."

"Call it two in the afternoon," Malfoy said, sounding annoyed. "I take my lunch at noon."

Harry rolled his eyes.

"It's still in the daylight, Potter," Malfoy pointed out. "So if anything the advantage is yours and no one can call it an unfair match when I beat you."

"But what if I beat you?" Harry said conversationally, watching Malfoy's jaw tighten. Harry wasn't exactly sure where his arrogance came from, but after months and months of trying to placate and ignore Draco Malfoy it was quite a thrill to wind him up. "Wouldn't want you to go around whispering that I won because you're too weak without the moon out. No, let's meet at eight o' clock. Tonight."

Ron snorted a laugh but did not break his stance. Malfoy's eyes narrowed and Crabbe and Goyle, picking up on their leader's mood, raised their arms, which had slackened slightly from holding their duelling stances for too long. For a moment Harry was sure that he'd pushed it too far - that a fight would erupt right there in the corridor, sending Ron and himself on the next train home while Malfoy got off with a detention or two. He watched Malfoy raise his hands and found his own hands coming up in response when -

"WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?"

Madam Pomfrey, as previously mentioned, could be quite terrifying, and her appearance in the doorway leading to the Hospital Wing did more to diffuse the situation than anything Harry could have thought of.

"My patients need rest, and you are out here _shouting_ and _fighting_?!" Pomfrey spat.

It didn't seem appropriate to point out that they had not actually started fighting, nor that Pomfrey was currently being more loud than they had been. The fourth year boys were all shrinking back, hoping to slip away before Pomfrey could dish out any actual punishment, but Pomfrey promptly informed them that every single one of them had just taken five points from their respective houses. She forced their full names out of each of them except Malfoy and Harry, who she knew, and then sent them on their way.

"Eight o' clock, Potter," Malfoy said coldly before disappearing down the corridor, flanked by his cronies.

Harry watched them until they were out of sight, adrenaline still pumping through his veins. That had felt... good. He was sure he had come out on top, somehow, even if he wasn't sure how or in what way. Ron seemed to agree, as he slapped Harry on the back, jolting him from his reverie with a sharp laugh.

"Harry," Ron started, "_why_ is -"

"Can we please not talk about this?" Harry interrupted, walking swiftly down the corridor, his stomach taking charge and steering him towards the Great Hall.

"Sure," Ron said, too cheerfully, his long legs catching up and matching Harry's pace with ease. "So... what's the deal with Hermione?"

"She -" Harry hesitated, feeling again the shame and anger of having hurt her. "She's going to be okay, she says."

"No," said Ron, shaking his head, "that's great and all, but what I meant was - what's the deal with _you and Hermione_?"

Harry gave him a sideways look. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"Like, are you two...?" Ron trailed off, wiggling his eyebrows at Harry.

"Are we what?" Harry asked, still thinking back to their argument. Were he and Hermione okay? Was that what Ron was asking? If so then Harry did not want to give the true answer, which would have been that he did not know.

Ron watched Harry's face intently for several seconds before bursting out into laughter and pulling Harry into a friendly headlock. The action surprised Harry so much that he did not react at first, only slipping out of Ron's grip after the redhead had rubbed his fist against the top of Harry's head for several seconds.

_How dare he?_

Harry suppressed the urge to retaliate - to push Ron up against a wall and beat the stuffing out of him - mostly because he needed to conserve his energy if he wanted to beat Malfoy.

"Oh, Harry," Ron said, still laughing. "I am going to teach you _so much._"

Harry shot him a glare as they continued to walk. Harry did not like this new Ron. Throughout second year, after having been defeated by Harry, Ron Weasley had been just as horrible as Malfoy. It was only after beating Harry in the Championship last year that Ron had been content to ignore Harry completely. Harry wished that Ron would go back to that indifference and he hoped that Malfoy would adopt the same attitude when -

_Oh, crap..._

Malfoy had asked for a rematch, but that was not what he wanted. He wanted revenge. What would happen if Harry won? Malfoy would hardly lose interest. He'd come after Harry again - which Harry could deal with - but he'd also made it clear that he had no problems going after Hermione, which was something Harry couldn't allow.

_You'll protect her._

But Harry knew from last year how easy it was to corner someone in a secluded spot - it had happened to him often enough. He could not be with Hermione every minute of the day, and he knew that Malfoy could be clever, and that he was all too good at inflicting pain...

There was only one solution if Harry really wanted Malfoy off his back. He would have to go to the Duelling Circle tonight, and he would have to face Malfoy, and he would have to _lose_.

* * *

Evening evened the playing field between fire and water. Eight was not quite dusk but both the moon and the sun were up there and as Harry leaned back to drink in the sunlight, the rays stoking his energy in an unfamiliar but warm and welcome way, he knew that the moon would be doing the same for Malfoy.

Harry blinked and opened his eyes as he heard the sound of distant laughter. He pulled his goggles down and watched from his position sitting cross-legged in the middle of one of the Duelling Circles as a few students approached from the school. With annoyance he recognized Ron Weasley and a gang of Gryffindors, dressed in their usual school uniforms but wearing them more casually than would have been allowed during class hours. Shirts were un-tucked, ties hung loose or were missing entirely and Lavender Brown was somehow showing several more inches of leg than what should have been logically possible with the modest uniform skirt.

Harry frowned down at his own attire - muddy red duelling robes. He wished he could wear something more neutral. After all, he didn't want his imminent loss to be a blow to the _pride of Gryffindor House_, or whatever. Harry watched Ron Weasley give him a cheery wave and then lead his friends into the stands.

"You think Malfoy won't bring a crowd?" Ron had snorted when Harry asked him not to tell anyone about the duel. Ron seemed so sure that Malfoy would want a crowd - and so Harry would need to bring some people too - but Ron only thought that because he himself was all about public appearances. His social status had been lowered when he'd been defeated by Harry in the finals of their first year, so he'd needed their rematch in to be a public affair.

Malfoy, on the other hand, seemed to have more of a personal need to settle the score. Harry could have sworn that no one else remembered their duel from the first year Championship - Harry himself had nearly forgotten, after all - and Harry was near the bottom of the school's social ladder so Malfoy, who was near the top, was hardly looking for prestige. The issue had to be internal; Malfoy still felt some shame or bitterness or anger at his defeat.

Harry searched inside himself for any feelings of shame or bitterness or anger at the idea of losing to Malfoy. He found none. Did that meant that Malfoy had more honour than him?

_Probably._

Harry's speculation of whether Draco would bring a crowd proved irrelevant as he watched students of all four Houses enter the Grounds and populate the stands. The stands were far from full, of course, but Harry spotted a lot of his classmates and even a few upperclassmen, which was fairly unusual since they hardly ever involved themselves with the dealings of anyone below sixth year. The news that Draco Malfoy would be beating the snot out of some kid had obviously spread.

_It doesn't have to turn out like that._

For the first time Harry felt a sliver of annoyance pierce through him. It _did_ have to turn out like that. He had decided - this was the only course of action that made sense. But that didn't mean that he wanted an audience... For a second Harry was glad that Hermione, at least, wasn't there, before he guiltily remembered that the only reason she hadn't heard of the duel was that she was still in the Hospital Wing, forced to stay the night against her own wishes.

And then Malfoy was approaching. Harry knew who it was long before he could make out any details simply by the hulking forms of Crabbe and Goyle at either side of the smaller figure. Their approach was painfully slow, but eventually Malfoy was at the side of Harry's Duelling Circle, drawing every eye as he handed his cloak to Crabbe, revealing pristine green duelling robes underneath. Harry caught Malfoy glancing towards the surprisingly large crowd as he approached, and if Harry read the expression right then Draco did not like what he was seeing.

"We should be charging," Harry found himself saying as Malfoy stopped a dozen feet from him. "We'd make a mint."

He'd expected Malfoy to say something about not needing the money since he wasn't a pauper like Harry and his family, but Malfoy made no indication that he'd heard except a small tug at the corner of his mouth.

"Uh, so," Harry said, "Moody rules - knock out of the circle or incapacitate?"

Malfoy nodded.

"Should we use _this_ Circle?" Harry said, feeling unnerved by Malfoy's silence.

Malfoy nodded and took a deep breath before entering a duelling stance and waiting for Harry to do the same. As he did he heard someone strike a gong, and the cheers and jeers of the audience increased, but Harry tuned it all out, holding his stance steady and his gaze locked on Malfoy. When it became obvious that Harry wasn't going to make the first move Malfoy pulled a stream of water from his pouch and whipped it at him, testing the waters. Harry avoided the whip and flung a fireball back at Malfoy, who did not move but simply kept his eye locked on Harry as the ball of fire streaked past him, missing him by a few feet and blowing up a rock some way off. Malfoy raised an eyebrow at him.

Harry was put off by Malfoy's passive way of beginning the duel since he was used to being ruthlessly attacked by the Slytherin boy. Then again, they hadn't been in a formal duel since first year, and Malfoy seemed to be using the traditional "push-and-pull" of a waterbender rather than the aggressive style he'd tried to provoke Harry with over the past year. Realizing that he'd have to take the initiative Harry started making some more aggressive moves, stepping towards Malfoy and punching a fireball at his opponent with each step. He was leaving some pretty obvious openings for Malfoy to strike back, but the boy did not take them, merely avoided and blocked and watched Harry carefully.

Quick as a flash Malfoy struck out, pushing a thick stream of water directly into Harry's gut and sending him tumbling to the ground. He was winded, but not hurt too bad, and he took a second or two longer to get up than what he strictly would have needed, assuming that Malfoy would push the advantage.

"Come on, Potter!" Malfoy called out instead. "Don't muck about!"

Okay, he was being too obvious - he _couldn't_ be too obvious. Malfoy was too smart for that.

Harry re-engaged with new fervour, coming at Malfoy in a rush and going into hand-to-hand. Malfoy was quick though, and Harry's kicks and punches of fire were easily avoided or deflected in splashes of water and steam. Harry's movements were slugish in comparison to Malfoys fluid grace, and Harry was soon pushed to move backwards as Malfoy pelted him with jabs from a too-quick whip of water. Harry avoided the jabs as long as he could, and then blocked several more when they wouldn't stop coming. Instinct was trying to take control but Harry was fighting back, wanting to consider every move before implementing it, which meant that he was too slow to block the whip as it struck him in the stomach and then again across the face with a resounding 'SLAP'.

Scrunching his eyes shut in pain Harry blindly tossed a wave of fire towards Malfoy to buy himself a second or two. Opening his eyes he found that he'd bought more time than he'd thought as Malfoy could not block the wall but was forced to dive behind a rock for cover, so Harry did the same, still reeling from the strike to his head.

"That's more like it, Potter!" Malfoy called out from behind his cover. "I was starting to think that your little Mudblood would have been more of a challenge!"

Harry grit his teeth. The idea of losing to Malfoy was becoming less compelling by the second, but at the same time he was being forced to realize that Malfoy was a better duellist than him in almost every way.

_But not every way..._

A wave of water crashed down on a nearby boulder. If Harry had been behind it he would have been flung away, but the boulder itself merely shifted despite Malfoy having thrown almost everything he had at it. Harry remembered duelling Mandy Brocklehurst earlier in the day and almost unintentionally blowing up a boulder of about the same size.

_'You've got something inside you, Harry.'_

Harry was doing an admirable job of trying to forget the events of last night, but he couldn't deny that something had changed in the forest. Malfoy was quick, and Malfoy was clever, but Harry was reasonably sure that in terms of raw bending power, Malfoy was now weaker than him. He wondered for a second if he was being arrogant, but the sheer surprise of the realization overruled everything else.

Water splashed down on another boulder, closer this time, and Harry, sitting on his haunches with his back against the rock, looked down at his hands to see balls of fire dancing in each one of them, though he had not consciously willed them into being. Looking up he saw the sun going red against the horizon, its last rays throwing long shadows across the field and filling Harry Potter with fire. It was as if the Nargles had been a cloud over his head forever and ever, and he was only now feeling the sun on his skin for the very first time.

_Not for the first time - just for the first time since second year._

Harry quickly forced that thought away.

During all this time Malfoy kept throwing insults at Harry, which Harry found mostly comforting since it meant that he could locate Malfoy by the sound of his voice. Malfoy had been calling out disparaging things about Harry's father, but the lack of response prompted Malfoy to turn his comments in a direction that Harry found more difficult to ignore.

"Why did you decide to smash up Granger, anyway? Was she being a bitch? Did she need to be put in her place?"

Harry had to grit his teeth and remind himself that Malfoy was just trying to make him slip up.

_No, he doesn't want you to slip up - he wants you to show yourself._

"Granger has top marks, I hear... Do you keep her around because she reminds you of your whore of a mother?"

Harry blinked.

He was speeding towards Malfoy, flames propelling him forwards, and even as Malfoy spun and pulled water to block Harry's path it became certain that it would do no good. Harry's arms flew up and Malfoy's eyes widened.

Malfoy was streaking through the air, out of control, duelling robes fluttering in the wind as he flailed for control. Harry kept moving forwards as he watched Malfoy pull water from a nearby pool, meaning to soften his landing.

_Oh no you don't._

Harry's arms formed an X and then swept apart, sending a wall of fire towards Malfoy, whose quick reflexes redirected the water as a shield, sparing him from being roasted but sending him unprotected to the ground with a 'crunch' of broken bone.

Fire was all around them. Malfoy was on the ground, clutching at his arm, eyes screwed shut in pain. Flames curled and twisted their way into Harry's hand, which was raised high, about to bring down a storm of fire upon the unfortunate Slytherin.

But no...

Harry was supposed to lose. It was the only way of getting Malfoy to back off. If Malfoy didn't get his revenge then he would continue to be a problem.

_He won't be a problem if he's dead._

The thought was not angry or fierce, brought on by the heat of the battle - it was a plain and calm statement of fact, and it chilled Harry to the bone even as his flames reached ever higher.

_Do it!_

His hand was moving, again of its own accord, streaking down towards Malfoy, and though he tried to stop it, it would not respond. He watched as if in slow motion as the fire all around them swirled into a single stream that followed and flowed along with his descending fist. This was not a strike that would incapacitate or win some silly duel - he was bringing down a blazing wrath that could not be blocked by anything that Draco Malfoy and his little pouch of water could muster, even if the boy on the ground hadn't been paralysed by pain, cradling his broken arm.

The image of Hermione lying broken on the ground sprung up in Harry's mind. He had told Hermione that he'd get it under control... Had he lied to her, on top of everything else?

Harry's hand stopped.

This was true hesitation, unlike his previous intentional pauses, and now that Malfoy wasn't doing so well he apparently had no qualms about taking the opening.

Harry was skidding to the ground, ten feet away from Malfoy, the wind knocked soundly out of him and water splashing to the ground all around. Something was telling him to get up, but he wasn't listening. The water that quickly surrounded him was unforgiving and did not hesitate, as his fire had, but splashed him into the air. He spun for a moment, trying to orient himself and seeing that water was flowing up and at him from a nearby pool, before the telltale sound of crackling ice alerted him to what was happening.

Harry was tired and he did nothing but watch as the water around him froze, spreading the familiar coldness across his entire being and locking him in place. He looked down at Malfoy, who was on his feet now and directing and pushing the ice with his uninjured arm so that it squeezed Harry tighter, sending the little air that he had managed to catch right back out of his lungs. He could not move an inch, and without movement there was no bending. It was over.

_It's over when I say it's over._

Frost covered his goggles, but his mouth was left free, allowing him to draw small breaths even though his chest had little room to expand. Power in firebending came from the breath, and though his outside was cold his inside was still dangerously warm. Harry took as deep a breath as he could and exhaled, melting the ice on his face with a puff of hot air. Steam replaced the frost on his goggles as the ice surrounding his skull shifted and loosened its grip. Malfoy saw and was surprised but acted immediately to reform the ice. Harry took another breath and again he blew the ice away. Malfoy could only move one of his arms, and could not focus on Harry's head without loosening the grip on the rest of him, so Harry huffed and puffed and soon he could move his neck.

Harry could feel his forehead lighting up, as if the last rays of the sun were giving him a sudden and dizzying sun-stroke. Why was he doing this? The plan was to stay down. He was encased in ice and if he stopped now there was no way that Malfoy wouldn't see it as a fair win. Harry shouldn't be able to break this hold, anyway. He had watched the seventh years duel, and when one of the combatants was trapped like this then the duel was invariably over. James probably couldn't even break a hold like this.

_But you can..._

Harry could feel the fire rising up within him; could feel the ice melting at his fingertips and could feel it being immediately re-frozen by Malfoy. There was more fire boiling up, so much more, and _he_ was boiling, and soon the ice all around him would shatter and explode.

_And if you're lucky then some huge chunk of it will impale Malfoy..._

Harry stopped struggling and watched the ice reclaim its grip on him, letting the frosty tendrils swallow up the frightening heat. This time he was not allowed the luxury of oxygen - his lips was covered in ice along with the rest of him, and he found himself completely encased. He'd been captured in ice before, but never like this, and even as he felt the dangerous coldness spread all the way into his innermost being he could not find it in himself to struggle.

It was strangely comforting in a way and though some deep down part of him was screaming his surface thoughts wandered to an old nursery rhyme that his mother had sung to him when he was young and afraid and she needed her sleep. He repeated it in his head until the world went dark.

_It's time to go, please do not linger;  
Stay awake and I'll give you blue fingers;  
Yes the roof rattles and yes the wind it blows;  
But sleep little one or I'll give you blue toes._

_Play with the spirits, run as fast as you can;  
__Sleep through the lights and sleep through the bangs;  
Face all the monsters, my brave little man;  
Or I'll freeze you forever, like Avatar Aang._

* * *

There were lights, and there were bangs, and Harry could not sleep through them. There was quite a lot of pain, though not as much as he would have thought, and a warming sensation was coming from his chest and spreading all through his body, making his fingers and toes tingle. He wondered vaguely what colour they would be, and in the interests of science he forced his eyes open.

A blue glow nearly blinded him but he looked past it to see that the sun had finally set and that the sky above was speckled with stars. Shifting his gaze he noted that there were an awful lot of people all around him. Ron Weasley had fire in his hands, and was gesturing angrily at Crabbe and Goyle, who stood guard over Harry, not allowing anyone past. Parvati Patil was at Ron's side and she too was yelling, though her words were lost in the hubbub all around as dozens of people all seemed to have an awful lot of important and angry things to say to one another.

_What's the use of arguing over a ghost?_

Lavender Brown's lips were moving very fast as she poked Pansy Parkinson with a sharp manicured finger. There were students he did not recognize too, and even a few prefects, brandishing their badges and trying to calm things down with absolutely no success at all. The Duelling Circle looked just about ready to erupt into an actual battlefield.

All their arguing seemed centred around Harry but they were more focused on one another than on him, and only one person was actually giving him their full attention. Malfoy was crouched just above and working the blue glow with his right arm while his left hung limp at his side. Draco Malfoy was healing Harry Potter even though his own arm was still broken. It was too much.

Harry started to laugh.

It was a simple shaking at first, and Malfoy appeared alarmed, doubling his efforts until the actual laughter spilled from Harry's lips and Malfoy pulled away from him to simply sit and stare. As the healing water left him Harry felt immediately cold, but he also discovered that he could move without any problems, so he raised a hand to his face. Inspecting his fingers he found that they were a rosy red, not blue, and for some reason that made him laugh harder.

An ice hold should not make you black out, and it should not make you feel as cold and broken as Harry was feeling, so Malfoy had obviously gone a little overboard, but Harry was still alive, so Malfoy hadn't gone nearly as far as Harry himself almost had. His injured state seemed to be the excuse everyone was using to have a go at one another, though the real reason probably had more to do with House rivalries and such. Harry was not arrogant enough to think that people actually cared about _him_.

Over Malfoy's shoulders he could see that the crowd was growing silent as everyone turned to watch him squirm on the ground, but he ignored them, noting that his fingers were as cold as ice, and pulling them up to his lips to warm them with his breath, which came out in warm and steamy puffs. Why couldn't he stop laughing?

"Alright folks - the show is over!" someone roared. "Remember to tip your Prefects for not reporting you, and if this field ain't empty in thirty seconds then you've all got a glorious month of detention ahead of you!" Everyone looked around and within seconds the source of the voice was identified as Professor Moody, hobbling out of the shadows with a _thunk, thunk, thunk_ and looking twice as menacing as during the daytime.

There was a sudden bustle as everyone started to flee.

Harry stayed on the ground - he didn't feel up for _standing_, let alone fleeing - but he made an effort to school his features. It wasn't quite curfew yet, as far as Harry could tell, but their activities were still on the shady side. Using the Duelling Grounds for sparring was allowed, but nearly killing one another was probably, as Harry reflected through his mirth, _frowned upon_.

The one person who hadn't moved yet was Malfoy. He looked down at Harry, who was still lying in his little puddle. Malfoy didn't have the same hateful or hungry look that Harry had seen in his eye before - it was more as if he was trying to make sense of what he was seeing, and there was a hint of... disappointment?

"Look alive, Malfoy," Moody growled, and Malfoy finally shifted, throwing Moody a glare before walking away briskly, cradling his arm.

"Potter..." Moody said when the sound of retreating feet had faded and they were alone on the dark pitch.

"Sir?" Harry said with an innocence that bordered somewhere on insubordination.

"Detention, I think."

"Yes, sir," Harry said, sighing and pulling himself into a sitting position. The water he was sitting in really was rather cold, and he wished that he had the energy to stand. "When?"

"Thursdays."

"Next Thursday?"

"_Every_ Thursday."

"What?"

"You heard me, boy."

"That's not fair, sir!" Harry said, feeling genuinely annoyed and struggling to stand up. "What about Malfoy?"

"Since we're asking questions," Moody said, looking off towards the lake, "I have one for you... What sort of person agrees to a duel when they have every intention of losing?"

Harry lost his grip and splashed back into his puddle. "What do you mean, sir?"

"You're very convincing, Potter, but haven't I told you? This eye is magic!" Moody turned to him and grinned, tapping a finger against his glass eye. "And it sees everything... It sees you acting like a coward when you're anything but. It sees you sizing people up and dismissing them immediately. It sees that you're afraid, but not of a little shit like Malfoy. So what is it that scares you?" Moody leaned down towards Harry, who might have gotten up and run away if he'd had half the energy to do so. "I think I know..."

For the first in Moody's presence Harry felt actual fear; not of what the Professor might do, but of what he might know. "I'm not sure what you mean, sir," Harry said in a surprisingly even voice.

"I mean that I've been here for a while," Moody said, gesturing around at the field, "and I saw who you were really fighting back there - and it wasn't Malfoy." Moody let that hang in the air for a moment, then stretched out a hand, offering to help Harry from the ground.

"I don't want your help, sir," Harry said quietly, though what he meant was that he did not want Moody to look at him any longer with that all-seeing eye of his.

Moody growled and grabbed a hold of Harry, hauling him to his feet where he stood unsteadily. "I don't give a rat's arse about what you _want_, Potter, because when they find Malfoy's body all blackened and charred and they come crying to me, what do I tell them, huh? That Malfoy had the bad sense to push you too far?"

Harry shrugged out of Moody's grasp, though he could barely stand without the support. "I would never do that," he said, his heart beating faster than it had during the duel.

"Wouldn't you?" Moody leaned in close and transfixed Harry with his eye. "You never hear that little voice whispering, boy? In the dark and in the cold?"

_He is a broken old man, nothing more. Who is he to question you?_

"I bet you're wondering if you could take me," Moody said, a grim smile on his lips. "Well you can't, boy, and that's a fact. I'll prove it to you on Thursday, and again the Thursday after that." Moody straightened up and turned away, taking a step towards the castle. "Six o' clock," he said. "Don't be late."

"Why are you doing this?" Harry asked, despite himself.

Moody turned and looked back, and Harry had the eerie sense that both his eyes were made of glass as his real one clouded over with memories. "Maybe you remind me of someone," Moody said gruffly before turning and _thunk, thunk, thunking_ away into the darkness.

* * *

**I'd like to ask for a favour. Though there is, of course, _a plan_, there are certain parts of this story that I'm still working on the structure of, and I'd be much obliged if you could take a moment to list the top three (or so) things that you find most intriguing and would like to see more of in this story. It would really help me get a clearer idea of what sort of impression has been made so far.**

**Also, not as important, but who do we think that Harry reminds Moody of?**

******Thank you for reading.**


	8. Flare

**I keep forgetting to thank my beta, but know that without Trowa no Miko you would be reading various misspellings of 'Weasley' and sentences like 'Harry put a mouth over his mouth' instead of 'Harry put a hand over his mouth'. Yes, I wrote that. Yes, I am an idiot.**

* * *

**Harry Potter: The Last Avatar**

**Book 1: Water**

**Chapter 8: Flare**

"Hey! Hold it right there!"

Harry had been walking rather reluctantly towards Moody's office, but at the sound of that voice he sped up his pace.

"POTTER!"

The door was _so close._ Harry briefly considered breaking into a run before he was grabbed and spun around.

"Miss Weasley. How are you today?"

"You've been avoiding me," Ginny Weasley said, releasing Harry's arm. Harry took a step or two back but did not dare to run.

"I can assure you that I have not," Harry said politely. He hadn't, as a matter of fact. There had been that rather embarrassing escape into a restroom on the Hogwarts Express, but apart from that he had simply been too busy to remember that he needed to stay out of Ginny Weasley's path, which was, presumably, the reason he found himself so easily cornered in this empty corridor.

Ginny was surveying him critically, arms crossed. "So the reason I practically haven't _seen_ you since we talked about _you-know-what_, is...?"

Ah, well, if they were speaking in such broad terms then he supposed he _had_ been avoiding her since just before the summer holidays... Though he wasn't about to admit it. "I like to keep inconspicuous," Harry said.

"Oh, yes!" Ginny laughed. "Like your duel with Malfoy? Yeah, that was _way_ inconspicuous."

"Saw that, did you?" Harry said, weakly. "Isn't eight at night past curfew for third years?"

"Oh _boo hoo_," Ginny said. "Yeah, I saw. Do you know that the story is that Malfoy won? They're saying that 'the other kid' got a sound thrashing before getting iced up?"

_History is written by the victors._

"Yeah, so what?" Harry shrugged. "That's what happened."

"I was there, remember? I saw you."

Harry was shaking his head, though he didn't really know why. He could hear the clock-tower striking the hour, giving him an excuse. "Well, I've got detention, so -"

As he tried to turn away he found himself shoved up against the wall. He did his best not to squirm and met her angry gaze with polite indifference as she leaned in close.

"You and I need to have a long talk about you-know-what."

Harry was startled to realize that Ginny Weasley was becoming quite pretty, in a rough, 'I could beat you up if I wanted'-sort of way. As he was being made aware by her close proximity she had also grown rather alarmingly since their last conversation, and though he had always thought of her as a rather petite girl she was now just as tall as him.

_Then again, one could probably qualify _you_ as 'a rather petit boy'._

"I'm not sure what we'd have to talk about," Harry said, his mouth slightly dry.

"Are you going to make me say it?" Ginny asked with a quiet ferocity.

Harry closed his eyes in annoyance. Behind his eyelids there was an image waiting - an image of a pale little girl, covered in blood and lying on the ground, surrounded by fire. Harry opened his eyes quickly.

"I have no idea what you mean."

Ginny didn't like that, and in an instant her right hand was pulled back and lit aflame as her left hand held him in place against the wall. Harry found that no part of him wanted to lash out, or even defend himself, so he just stood still and looked at the ground. He had no urge to hurt this girl any more than she had already been hurt, but his lack of response did nothing to soothe her temper and she raised her hand...

At that moment they heard the creak of a door opening and both turned to see Mad-Eye Moody watching.

"Save it for the field, Weasley," Moody said, looking unamused.

"Yes, Professor." Ginny released her hold on Harry and glared after him as he slipped away inside Moody's office.

"You're just the belle of the ball, aren't you, Potter? Everyone wants a dance with you." Moody slammed the door shut behind them and let out a barking laugh.

"Right..." Harry said, looking around the barren office. There was no desk nor any chairs, books, or, to summarize, anything that you'd expect find in an office. Instead there was a large circle drawn on the floor. "I assume I'm not doing lines?"

"You assume right," Moody said, removing his trench-coat and hanging it on a slab of stone that he casually used earthbending to pull halfway out of the wall and use as a coat-hanger. For the first time Harry got a good look at Moody's prosthetic foot, which was made of steel and looked unexpectedly detailed. With its five metal toes it looked more like a sculpture of a foot than a mere tool to help Moody walk.

The Professor also kicked off his one boot, leaving his remaining foot bare and spreading a stale smell throughout the room. Harry followed the Moody's lead, removing his outer robe to reveal the shirt and trousers from his duelling robes, which he'd hidden underneath. He was rather glad that Ginny Weasley had not noticed this deviation from school rules.

Moody hobbled over to the opposite side of the room, across the circle drawn on the ground, waving at Harry to follow. Though the room was largely empty there was a series of several large metal chests standing along the side of the wall, and Moody had the lids of all of them slamming open with a wave of his hand.

Harry followed, looked inside and let out a soft curse.

The chests contained a copy of every weapon that had ever existed, and duplicates of most. That was at least how it appeared to Harry as he took in the sight of countless swords, spears, axes, and combinations of the above - things that he did not even know the name of, though he was sure that they would be very old and traditional names to match the old and traditional weapons. Despite their age they all seemed to be in tip-top shape, and far from all the weapons were old - he even noticed a bunch of wires and a glove that looked suspiciously like an Equalist creation for paralysing with electricity.

"Pick one," Moody ordered.

Not quite daring to ask why he would _need_ one, Harry let his eye run over the weapons again. Eventually he bent down and picked up what looked to be a ten inch polished wooden pole until he gently pulled it apart with a 'click', splitting it and revealing it to be a small dagger with a wooden handle and sheath.

"Why did you pick that one?" Moody asked. "And please don't say it's because of the pretty pictures."

There were indeed carvings running along the wood, but that was not the reason.

_A knife can be hidden..._

"I don't know how to use most of these," Harry said instead, gesturing to Moody's portable armoury. "I'm sure I'd just hurt myself... But anyone can use a knife."

"Can they, now? And what would you do if I came at you with one of these?" Moody pulled out a ridiculously large sword.

_I'd roast you alive, old man._

"I'd run away," Harry said.

"What if you can't run?" Moody directed the sword at him. He was somehow holding it in one hand - and holding it straight - however improbable it looked.

"I'd drop the knife and use firebending."

"What if you can't bend?" Moody took a step forwards and Harry took a step back.

"I suppose I'd try to _not be_ in the path of that sword." Harry found himself backing into the Duelling Circle as Moody advanced with the sword. Harry was getting distinctly uncomfortable, and something inside him was snarling at this treatment.

"That's a very nice and passive way of resolving absolutely nothing." Moody jabbed at him with the sword and Harry jumped back.

Harry was eying the door now, halfway planning an escape, but he was pulled from his plotting when Moody suddenly swung the sword in earnest. Of course, that had been the direction things had been going in, but Harry still could not quite believe it, and he felt anger blooming inside him as Moody attacked with a swing that would literally have taken his arm off if Harry hadn't been expecting it.

_End him._

Harry threw himself backwards to avoid the swing and the knife fell from his hand as flames sprung up in its stead. Now _he_ was the one advancing while Moody retreated. The Professor somehow split or blocked Harry's blasts of flame with his large blade, all while wearing an infuriatingly calm expression on his face. Harry couldn't get too close because of the blade, which in Moody's hands could change direction much faster than Harry would have thought.

_Disorient with wave of fire, then disarm with focused blast to the wrist._

Harry did as ordered, taking a moment to build the fire in his hands and pulling them back in order to sweep a large wave over the Professor. He did not expect Moody to toss the sword aside and come at him while he was preparing to strike, but that is what happened. The mere size difference between him and Moody convinced Harry that a full-force punch or shove from the Professor would have sent him flying through the air, but instead Moody struck Harry with a series of very fast but light touches.

They were light but somehow they crushed him. Harry was squeezed until he was nothing but little ball of pain, all while he was perfectly aware of his body standing still in Moody's office. He tried to move his arm, but his fingers only twitched lightly, and he was held in the pose he'd been in when Moody struck out, the commands from his brain getting lost somewhere along the way to the rest of his body.

_Petrified... He is like the snake!_

Moody looked Harry over for a moment and then gave him a final powerful poke, sending Harry collapsing to the ground, his limbs unfrozen but mightily sore. Harry rolled to his feet and let out a roar, punching his fist out and calling on his fire to join him and take the old relic out.

It would not come.

Frantic, he backed away from Moody and searched inside for the fire that had been lurking just inside his fingertips for over a week now. It was not there. Feeling slightly absurd he found himself listening for the buzzing sound of Nargles, but that was not there either. This was something different.

"I can practically see the wheels turning." Moody was watching him with a look of mild interest.

Harry tried a slower approach, reaching inside gently and attempting to cajole a flame into appearing in his hand, but again he found nothing, and he could feel himself starting to panic as he realized what Moody's series of jabs must have been.

_You saw the glove! You should have known!_

Harry turned and ran.

He was halfway to the door when a part of the floor rose up with a grinding sound, tripping him up and crashing him to the ground. His glasses fell off and he fumbled around on the floor for several seconds before finding them and jamming them back on his face. He spun around, still on the ground, just so that Moody wouldn't be behind him anymore, and glared at the old man.

"You're an Equalist!" Harry had meant it as a question, but it came out as more of an accusing shout.

"Your wheels seem to be turning the wrong way, and that's fine because I'm sure that this is all very traumatic and blah blah blah... " Moody spoke evenly, but an edge had crept into his voice. "So while I'm not going to let you leave, I _am_ going to disregard your accusation and give you a minute to use your brain before opening your mouth again."

Harry scrambled to his feet and though Moody was true to his word, watching him patiently and not moving in for the attack, Harry still couldn't quite fathom it. It didn't make sense! He knew from his father that Moody had been the one to re-activate and head the task force originally created by Councilman Tarrlok in the days before the First Equalist Revolution, and in his long career he was widely known to have apprehended more Equalists and Equalist sympathisers than anyone else.

And yet Mad-Eye Moody was a chi-blocker?

Harry remembered when he'd first come to Republic City and saw a poster depicting a happy healthy family walking down a street. The parents were talking and laughing while the child, a pretty young girl, was lagging behind, playing with a pebble, making it float in the air above her hand, unaware of the darkness that was seeping its way closer from the mouth of a nearby alley. In the shadows you could make out a pair of glowing green eyes and a black claw-like hand, reaching out for the girl.

'CONSTANT VIGILANCE', the caption had read.

He'd asked his parents what it meant, and Lily had told him not to worry about it, but James had frowned and crouched down to explain some things to him. He'd explained that they were in the city now, and that danger could be lurking around every corner, and Harry needed to be ready. He'd explained that the most dangerous danger that lurked in the shadows was the chi-blocker, who could take away Harry's bending and render him helpless with a touch. The chi-blocker was a bitter creature that hated Harry simply for what he was. Harry remembered wondering why moving to Republic City had been so important.

Harry watched Moody, who was calmly picking up the sword and knife that they had dropped and checking them for damage. Another quick and discreet experiment showed Harry that he still couldn't summon a flame.

"You took my bending away," Harry said.

"Keep your hair on. It'll come back in a few hours..."

"You're a chi-blocker," Harry said.

"Someone give that boy a medal," Moody muttered to himself, peering down the edge of the sword with his one eye.

"Chi-blocking is illegal," Harry said guardedly.

"In the United Republic, yeah," Moody agreed. "But we're not in the United Republic, are we?"

"We're at Hogwarts..." It _had_ to be against some school rule, right?

"We're in my office," Moody corrected, gesturing around them. "Weren't you listening before? In here whatever I say is the law."

"I thought that was the Duelling Grounds?"

Moody shrugged. "It's mostly something that applies in my general vicinity."

"So, what's the deal?" Harry asked acidly. His mind flew back to all the theories and fears that he had built around the government and the Aurors increasing their grip on the people of Republic City. It was a subject that had occupied his mind during the summer, but leaving the city - and the appearance of Barty Crouch - had put other things on his mind. "Is this a standard Auror thing? Are all of you secretly chi-blockers?"

"I'm not an Auror anymore," Moody said, "and do you really think it's the sort of thing they'd put in the handbook?"

Harry had a sudden vision of James Potter in his Auror regalia, punching the power out of some drunk and unruly firebender, and the image felt entirely wrong. Bending was _everything_ in the Republic - a bender could very nearly do no wrong, and taking away that power was dirty, wrong, and against the natural order of things. It's what the dreaded Equalists were known for, after all.

"No, this is just my little trick," Moody said, wagging a finger at Harry. "It always pays to have a trick up your sleeve, boy."

"Some trick," Harry muttered.

Moody made a sudden move towards Harry, who flinched, but Moody stopped in his tracks and laughed at Harry's fright.

"So... Now what, Potter?" Moody said.

"What?"

"What do you do when I come at you this time? When I take away your bending, what is left?"

Harry only had to think back a week, to sleepless nights and lying on a cold stone floor retching his heart out. He glanced to the knife that was still in Moody's hand. "That's why you want me to learn weapons? So I can fight off chi-blockers?"

"No, we won't be using these… I was satisfying my own curiosity." Moody stashed the sword away but kept the knife in his hand, looking at it. "But there's a point to be made here..." He pointed the knife towards Harry, who backed away. "A weapon is an extension of yourself, just as bending is an extension of yourself."

Moody stepped through the room, moving the knife softly through the air. Harry forgot his fear and anger as he watched the old man move in what was almost a dance. Moody's hand was moving gracefully, but his stance was still strong - he was an earthbender through and through. Harry wondered how a waterbender might use a blade like that - since they were trained to move completely differently - or an airbender, or a firebender.

_Or a non-bender..._

"Still think anyone can use a knife?" Moody asked, not breaking his movement.

Harry considered for a moment. "Yes," he said, finally, "but maybe not... perfectly." The knife did indeed look like an extension of Moody's arm. When the knife had been in Harry's hand he'd been holding it stiffly, like something alien and dangerous that he did not fully want to associate with.

"Aye," Moody said. "It's the same with your bending. You don't know what the hell you're doing."

Harry bristled slightly. "Don't I?"

"Nope. You're out of sync with it. You want to run away while it wants to burn the world down. Put your goggles on."

Taken aback by the sudden turn of the conversation, Harry swallowed nervously and walked to the door to retrieve the goggles from a pocket in his robes. Moody's back was now to him, the tip of the knife still carving its way through the air, and Harry wanted nothing more than to slip out the door and go.

He put his goggles on instead.

"If you want to have any kind of control then you need to strip away the distractions-" Moody sheeted the knife, "-and ask yourself what is left."

Harry said nothing. He did not know what to say.

"So!" Moody put down the knife and continued in a more businesslike tone. "Tonight we're doing some sparring. Without bending and without weapons. Except, of course, _these_."

Moody raised his fists and Harry stared.

* * *

Non-bending duelling was never taught or practiced at Hogwarts, because it was presumed that you would never need it. That was, after all, what was supposed to make bending superior to all the little weapons in Moody's little boxes - you were never without your bending. Except, of course, Harry was without it right now, and consequently he spent the next two hours being unceremoniously beaten up by an old man.

Harry let his instincts take over, knowing that he'd have no chance against Moody if he held back, but unfortunately all his instincts were _wrong_. The firebending fighting forms that had been drilled into him by McGonagall were based around holding a wide stance and doing whirling blocks and kicks, all extended with flames, allowing the firebender to control the flow of the fight with quick advances and retreats. Overall it was an aggressive style of fighting that did him very little good when robbed of his fire and facing an opponent several times his size.

When his instincts told him to 'disorient with a wave of fire', or some such, he found himself waving his hand ineffectually and then barely avoiding Moody's next attack. Moody gave him no guidance, and Harry did not want to ask or whine or complain, to give Moody the satisfaction of seeing him falter, but the tenth time Harry whirled a kick that did not connect - because his instincts told him that it should have sent off a diagonal flame - and was casually shoved to the ground by Moody, Harry had had enough.

He started fighting against habit and instinct, and tried instead to be clever and to make any move that might catch Moody off-guard. Harry knew that he was prone to over-thinking during duels, and usually it slowed him down, but Moody kindly helped him avoid this by pummelling him whenever he hesitated. Ignoring his usual firebending forms Harry found himself taking on a more passive fighting style, running and avoiding whenever he could, using his small size to whatever small advantage he could find.

He'd half-thought that Moody would complain and tell him to stand and fight like a man, but Moody kept the same unaffected expression throughout the whole session, allowing Harry to move however he wanted while keeping him on his toes with an unrelenting series of attacks. What with Moody's massive muscles it was not easy to block his attacks, and landing a punch on Moody was damn-near impossible, but it was still obvious to Harry that Moody was holding back. So at least 'beating Harry to death' could not be the actual goal of all this...

_Unless he wants to prolong your suffering..._

Harry was bruised, battered and drenched in sweat by the time Moody finally called their sparring to a halt. Not quite letting his guard down in case it was some kind of trick, Harry stood still, breathing heavily as Moody walked to the chest of weapons and back. Moody walked up close to Harry, who tensed up, calculating what he would do if Moody struck out, but instead Moody placed the knife back into Harry's hands. Harry threw Moody a questioning look.

"Just hold it." Moody was breathing heavily, and Harry was pleased to see some sweat on the old Auror's brow. That was something, at least...

Harry held the knife. It was still the same. He moved it experimentally through the air, keeping an eye on Moody in case he should attack, and wondering what he might do with the knife if that should happen. "Aren't you going to tell me how to use it?" Harry asked.

"Just feel it out. I don't know how to fight in little body like that," Moody said, gesturing to Harry's small frame and then at his own massive one. "Only you can figure that out. I can't teach it any better than I can teach how to bend fire."

Harry thought on that for a moment. Finding no particular conclusion he instead asked: "When is my bending coming back?"

"Within the hour."

"Why did you take my bending?"

"So you can figure out how to move without the distraction of fire pouring out of you. Learn to handle yourself with confidence. Get some aggression out without killing somebody."

"If we're being fair, shouldn't you take your own bending away too?" Harry asked, fingering the knife.

"Hah! Have I been throwing bricks at you?"

"No," Harry said, "but you've been wiggling your toes."

A smirk spread across Moody's face.

While Harry had made an effort to be more consciously aware of his own movements he'd paid just as much attention to how Moody moved, and he would have been a fool not to notice it. Harry wasn't sure how it was possible, but Moody's prosthetic foot moved and adjusted itself just as a real foot while they were fighting. Standing still now it looked hard and dead, but Moody promptly lost his hobbled walk as soon as he needed to. Harry had pressed the one advantage that he thought he'd have over the Professor, and he'd been disproven and thrashed repeatedly for the mistake.

"You wouldn't take away the crutch of a poor old man, would you?"

_Maybe if he kept beating me over the head with it..._

"That's not all," Harry said.

"Oh?" Moody asked, turning and hobbling his way towards the back of the room.

Harry drew his arm back and flung the knife with full force straight at the Professor, who growled and turned, raising a hand and metalbending to divert the knife so it narrowly missed and clattered against the wall behind him.

"You've been seeing me when you shouldn't," Harry said, suppressing both the triumph and exhilarating fear that he felt at his own actions.

"You just threw a knife at me," Moody said flatly.

"I thought you liked weapons?" Harry asked, perfectly aware that the statement made no sense.

"Not when they're flung at me, as a rule."

"What are you going to do, give me another detention?" Harry wasn't acting like himself at all, but he was feeling the same thrill as when he was winding Malfoy up outside the Hospital Wing. "Take away my Tuesdays too?"

"How about I throw a knife at you when _your_ back is turned," Moody growled, "and we'll see how _you_ like it?"

"The sole of your boot is detachable, too," Harry pointed out, nodding towards the lone boot standing by the door. "It reminded me of this story I heard... About someone they used to call the greatest earthbender in the world."

"Perceptive, Potter," Moody admitted. "Let it be a lesson not to underestimate your opponent. People see this -" he pointed to his fake eye "- and they think I have a blind spot, but they're wrong. I have one foot and one eye. That's plenty."

"So..." Harry said, tapping his bare foot against the cold floor. "Does that make _you_ the greatest earthbender in the world?"

"Attack me again when my back's turned, and we'll see," Moody said, and grinned. "Maybe it runs in the family..."

* * *

Harry sat on the floor in the middle of Moody's empty office and stared at the wall, bored out of his skull. Whatever thrill he'd felt at his verbal sparring with Moody had been dispelled at the end of the lesson and Harry was now occupying his mind with ways he might get out of these detentions.

He could go to McGonagall, but who knew what Moody would tell her? Moody probably had the law on his side, and even if he didn't, Harry wouldn't put it past the old Auror to simply lie. Harry could tell people that Moody was a chi-blocker... That would certainly cause a fuss. He entertained the notion for a while, but it was not all that appealing. Again, Harry had no real evidence, and even if he did it would probably cause a scandal of some sort, and all too much attention would be directed at Harry.

Harry intended to go to Madam Pomfrey directly after this, and if he was honest about how he'd gotten his scrapes, for once, then he was sure that Pomfrey would take the matter directly to Headmaster Dumbledore. But as much as Harry wanted to get out of it, he still didn't want anyone else to fight his battles for him. Harry let out a frustrated growl and felt a lone spark of heat somewhere deep inside him.

_Ah, is this it? What Moody talked about?_

Harry had breathed a sigh of relief when Moody announced that it was time to go and find something to eat, but Moody had promptly squashed Harry's food-related daydreams by telling him that he still wasn't finished.

"But you just said -"

"I said that _I'm_ going to dinner," Moody had said. "You need to sit here," he had pointed to the ground, "and look there," he had pointed to the wall, "for about an hour."

Harry had stared at Moody and his expression, whatever it might have been, had made Moody grin.

"Your chi is blocked, Potter. You can't get too agitated."

"We've been _fighting_ for two hours!" Harry had said, irritably. He refused to call it _sparring_ or _training_, because that was not what they had been doing. "Does it get any more agitating than that?"

"Ah, but that was before. Pretty soon your bending is going to start trickling back." He'd started sounding more serious around this part. "With people like us it's likely to be a bit explosive, especially the first time, if you don't smooth its way back. Nearly wrecked a whole infirmary first time I threw off the block. Rattled my poor shell-shocked companions something fierce." Moody hadn't sounded particularly regretful.

"So you just sit there and go 'ooohm' or whatever it is McGonagall's taught you, and I'll be off maintaining my figure." Moody had thumped his gut, clapped Harry on the shoulder (the weight of his touch reminding Harry of Hagrid) and left.

Harry had been sitting there quietly for what felt like forever, feeling nothing at all, but now there was a spark inside him, rapidly growing into a flame. He should have felt relief, but instead he felt as if a burden had been hitched back onto his shoulders.

_Hah. Pathetic._

The fire inside him was growing, still, and Harry took a deep breath, centring himself as best he could and trying to stay as calm as possible.

"Harry?"

The fire jumped. Harry knew that voice. He turned his head. Barty Crouch was standing in the doorway, looking at Harry in surprise. Crouch let out a laugh.

"Fancy meeting you here!"

The fire inside Harry was rising. He knew that not even nearly his full energy had come back, but he could still feel the heat of it, straining to break through at the sight of Crouch.

"Mister Crouch!" Harry said.

"What are you doing here?"

"Nothing," Harry said. "Detention," he amended.

"Tut tut," Crouch said, though he was smiling. "What did you do?"

_Stop smiling._

"Nothing, I - " Harry hesitated, "I walked out of his class."

Crouch let out a sudden laugh, strangely similar to Moody's barking laugh, though a lot more shrill. "I bet he loved that," Crouch snickered.

"I just had to -" Harry started, fumbling for anything to say and about to explain why he walked out of class.

_Don't mention Hermione to this man - not now, not ever._

"Oh, trust me Harry, I get it," Crouch said rather fondly. "Old Moody has always been a slave driver... Well, as you know I have no authority over school matters, but I could always _arrest you -_ that'd get you out of here at least."

"I -" Harry said, starting to panic as he could feel his skin prickling. The fire was nearly consuming him now, pushing at him from the inside.

"Oh don't worry," Crouch said, misreading Harry's expression, "we'd just go and have a cup of tea or something... Or I could give you those sparring lessons we talked about?"

Crouch was smiling at him and Harry was about to explode.

Harry got up and, like blood rushing to your head after sitting down for too long, the fire sprung up inside him. Small flames appeared in his hands, but he forced them down. They did not like that, and he could feel them moving and burning him under the skin. Harry started walking towards the door, hoping that Crouch would move, because if he didn't...

"I think I'll just go to bed," Harry said as he walked. "Pretty tired."

"Mad-Eye won't like that," Crouch pointed out, though he did, thankfully, move out of the doorway.

"My detention is over now," Harry said.

"At... Eight forty-three?" Crouch asked, glancing at his wristwatch.

Being able to come so close to the man was a struggle, and Harry could feel his fire protesting and flaring up as he swept past Crouch and turned his back on the man, walking away up the corridor.

"Hey, Harry! D'you know where he is? Mad-Eye?"

"Went to eat," Harry called out without daring to turn his head.

"Cheers," Crouch said and Harry heard footsteps going down the hallway in the other direction.

Harry increased his pace, forcing himself not to start running and trying to control his breathing. The fire was calming slightly and he tried to soothe his mind as he came to a spot where the corridor split into left and right. He turned left, his feet putting him on the route to Gryffindor Tower, and came face to face with Ginny Weasley.

"I waited," Ginny said.

Harry's hand twitched, sparks shooting from his fingers, and he walked off in the opposite direction.

"Now is really not a good time..." he said, hoping against the odds that he might be left alone.

He didn't need to turn to know that Ginny was following - she gave a running commentary as she trotted along behind him: "Potter! _Potter_! Harry! Where are you going, exactly? Where are you running to this time? You can run, but you can't hide, Potter!"

"It's after your curfew," Harry muttered. He'd spoken mostly to himself, but a plan formed as the words left his lips. "So I'm bringing you to McGonagall."

"You think I won't be here tomorrow? I'm not going anywhere, Harry!"

"I don't know; harassment, attacking people in the corridors... You might get expelled."

"Do you want me to talk to _her_ about what I saw, instead of you? I think she'd be very interested."

"Don't know what you're talking about..." Harry shook his head, pressing his eyes shut for a moment.

_A pale bloody figure on the rocky ground... A stench and a hissing and a fire, rising up like the anger and hate and despair that was rising inside..._

Harry snapped his eyes open and pushed down, hard. It was bubbling and boiling and he could feel it trickling in, but he knew that the main portion of it was still not back, or it would all have come flooding out, he was sure of it. There was a prickling across his body, like the feeling of blood rushing back into your arm after sleeping on it, except _everywhere_.

_Volcanic... This is just the rumbling..._

He found himself outside a door, and so he opened it. Inside was the firebending classroom - not McGonagall's office. He'd thought of McGonagall and automatically gone to the place where he usually saw her. But of course, as he could see outside the classroom windows, it was evening.

"You think she's got a class?" he heard Ginny ask sarcastically from somewhere close behind him.

McGonagall's office wasn't on this floor. There was no way he'd make it.

Harry went inside and closed the door before Ginny could enter. He heard her muffled angry shout outside but ignored it, heading instead for another door and passing through it, finding himself in Phoenix Hall. He closed the door behind him and everything went dark. He would have looked for another exit but there was only one door into Phoenix Hall, and no windows, as he would have remembered if he was thinking clearly. He had the mad thought that he should have gone for the windows instead of the door.

Being chased was not doing anything to settle his mind or his fire, and now he was trapped, cornered and caged in the dark... He could feel his hands start to shake, and he was grateful for the dark as he tried without any success to keep his breathing regular. With shame he could feel tears coming up behind his eyes.

He was staring at the spot where he knew the door to be, wondering if he could lock it or block it or hold it shut, when Ginny Weasley simply opened it and came in, bringing with her the light of a large angry flame in her hand. Harry turned quickly so she wouldn't see his face and walked further into the deep darkness of the hall.

He heard Ginny close the door behind her after a moment's hesitation, leaving them shut off from the world outside. When she spoke, her voice was smaller than it had been, echoing softly through the hall.

"When I was in the Chamber of Secrets, someone came and got me back... And it was you."

"You are misremembering," Harry mumbled. He was feeling nauseous now, holding back the shaking, holding the flames inside. "Very traumatic - can cause hallucinations or... false memories."

"I didn't remember at first, but it's not the sort of thing you forget, is it?" Ginny was following him into the hall, and her voice was picking up confidence again. "It started as dreams, and it took time to figure out what I was seeing."

_'Not the sort of thing you'd forget...'_

Phoenix Hall was too dark, too large, too much like a cave...

"That monster, in flames..." Ginny said. "The smell! The ground, shaking..."

Looking down at his shaking hands Harry realized that they were glowing, small trails of fire speeding along his veins and arteries.

"And you standing there in the middle of it all," Ginny sounded almost reverent, and it made Harry feel sick.

_She has no idea..._

Harry looked up to the heavens, searching for a moment of peace, but what he found instead was the long, twisting dragon statue, looking down at him. In the flickering shadows it was almost alive, but the fact that it was made of stone seemed somehow appropriate.

Stone. Like Hermione, lying still as death in the Hospital Wing. Like her small fist, clenched around a piece of parchment overlooked by the matron. Like the feeling inside Harry when he'd realized that he knew something that Dumbledore and McGonagall and all the other bright adults did not.

_Like a pebble, rolling across the ground in a chamber engulfed by flames..._

Harry's hand twitched. There was a roaring sound in his ears and it was almost, but not quite, enough to drown out Ginny Weasley's voice.

"Don't try to deny it, Harry! I remember! I saw you! So why don't you just tell me _what happened_?"

_Get her out of here._

Unable to hold it in any longer, two flames sprung up in his hands. They started small, but he lost more ground and they grew too quickly.

"Leave! Now!" Harry shouted, without turning.

"Not until you talk to me!" Ginny shouted.

Harry turned and threw a large fireball in her direction. She jumped in surprise as it hit the wall behind her, exploding and silhouetting her for a moment against the flash of light. The fire in her own hand grew and he could make out her eyes turning hard.

"Or we can do it that way..." she said darkly, walking towards him.

_If she does not leave right now..._

He turned away from her, searching his mind for any way he might make her go, but he was distracted by the throbbing that was spreading through his entire being and by the flames in his hands, which grew with each ragged breath. If she attacked him he did not know what would happen, but it would not be good. He could not make her leave by force, and did not know how to make her leave in any other way. He could try to run from the hall, but she would follow, and...

_'That's a very nice and passive way of resolving absolutely nothing.'_

He racked his brain for what he knew of Ginny Weasley, even as he heard her echoing footsteps and the crackling of her fire as she came closer and closer behind him. Last year she had avoided him until just before the summer, when she'd confronted him and brought up things that he _did not want to think of_. That was the first time they had even spoken! Before that she was - before that...

_Ah._

Before that, in second year, she had been different; more drawn back and shy. He had noticed her because she reminded him of Hermione, staying at the edges and not saying much. So he'd kept an eye on her, because he did not want her to get lost on those outskirts, even if she _was_ Ron Weasley's sister. She had noticed him watching.

He was struck by a memory of some random breakfast during his second year when he had felt eyes on the back of his head. When he had turned and caught Ginny Weasley watching him she had looked away quickly and blushed and put her elbow in the butter bowl.

And Harry knew which strings to cut.

"What a fantastic little fairytale it sounds like," Harry said, turning and finding her standing not five feet off, the heat of her fire and the heat of her glare mixing with the burning inside him. "Are you the damsel in distress? I guess that makes me prince charming?" He gave a laugh so cynical that it made Ginny take a small step back. Harry pressed his advantage, taking a step forward. "Well, I'm sorry to burst your bubble, Weasley, but I don't know _what the fuck you're talking about_!"

Ginny flinched.

"Look!" Harry said viscously, "I get it - you want to know what happened - but whatever it is that you've _dreamt up_ in your _little head_, I want no part of it!" Harry was having a difficult time breathing now. The fire in his hands had risen until his whole arms were aflame, licking at the shoulders of his shirt. With an enormous effort he pushed the fire back down until it was only in his hands, and he spoke more gently: "Why do you want to go looking into it, anyway? You're alive, aren't you? _Draco dormiens nunquam titillandus._ Just let it go."

Ginny's flame, which had been growing brighter during his rant, sputtered and died. She was looking at him, eyes shining in the light of his flame, and to his horror she took a small step towards him. "But -"

_She's still here - get her out of here - now, now, NOW!_

Harry hissed and stepped out of her reach.

"And _leave_ - _me_ - _alone_."

He saw something crack inside Ginny Weasley and she turned in a flurry of red hair and angry tears, running from the room. The door slammed behind her and Harry did not have time to feel bad about what he'd said, or good about managing to make her leave, or anything at all.

He could not hold it in any longer.

_'You need to open yourself completely to the fire within, and simply let it all flow out.'_

Harry burst into flames. It was pouring out of him, every pore opening and expelling a light and a heat that burned and blinded him even behind his closed eyelids. Every muscle in his body was tensed, but he strained his neck, forced it to move, and opened his eyes.

All he saw was fire. The inferno was all around him, swirling and pouring and growing. He peered down at his body and watched in horror as it was consumed by the flames. The fire did not leave charred limbs behind, though - instead it left something that was too bright to look at.

He was on fire - he was burning - and whatever he had been, whatever he was, was disappearing into the flame. And yet when every part of his body was gone, he was still there.

He was the fire.

* * *

Someone was screaming and it was him.

_That's good. Means you still have a throat._

It must indeed have been there, for as he stopped screaming he could sense how raw his throat had become. He must have skin as well because he could feel sweat flowing freely all across it. He was warm, but like the roaring that had been in his ears he could sense that the heat was now finally outside of him. Harry opened his eyes. He remembered Hermione's flare, how it had reached quite far towards the high ceiling, and Ron's flare, how it had almost splashed the class with a few stray flames. That was not quite what he saw as he looked around.

Phoenix Hall was burning.

Impossibly, as if the stark stone walls and the floor had been doused in gasoline, the fire was roaring all around him. He had thought himself spent, but the sight sent a wave of convulsions through him and he curled into a ball, trying to still his body as a second wind roared through his mind, finding no resistance - no closed doors - since the fire had already cleansed him. He was flooded with a feeling that he'd had once before, when he'd been trapped deep in the bowels of Hogwarts castle. It was like the fire, but different, and like the fire it was looking for a way out.

He felt a second scream tear from his throat as he clutched at the floor, and when he finally quieted, his lungs refusing to give him any more air, he heard the rumbling that was overtaking the roar of fire. Opening his eyes again, Harry saw cracks speeding in all direction, flashing into existence and splitting the floor, splitting the walls, splitting the ceiling and shattering the hall.

It was like the Chamber - everything was falling apart. The world was collapsing in on him and like last time he could not bring himself to care. Smoke and dust was everywhere and it tickled his throat, so he focused on breathing slowly, rolling onto his back and watching as flaming rocks and bricks fell from above like drops of rain in a terrifying storm. He could no longer see the ceiling, but he can hear the crackling of flames and the cracking of rock. The sound was muted, though, and the bright red of the flames all around was fading away into a mist.

_Just need a little rest..._

A huge smash shook him back into consciousness and he turned his head weakly. A huge head, larger than his whole body, was looking back at him, and at first he thought that it was the great big snake, come back to haunt him. But the head was made of stone, so if it was the snake then it was Harry who had petrified it with _his_ gaze this time around.

_It's just the dragon..._

That was it - it was the head of the stone dragon, come loose from its body and crashed to the ground. It was looking more alive than ever with flames engulfing it, bringing it back to life after a long sleep. It would have made Harry chuckle, but all he could do was mumble to himself as his eyelids slid shut.

"_Draco dormiens..._"

* * *

**Last chapter pushed us past 100 favourites. I usually find new stories by browsing through other people's favs, so I really appreciate it. Short of shoving it down your friends' throats (which I also encourage) it is probably the best thing you can do to spread the story. I'm also loving all the theories in the reviews, by the way - it's all highly entertaining. *Insert Evil Laugh Here*  
**

**You'll notice that my Mad-Eye Moody jokes around more than your average ****Mad-Eye **Moody. That is because being a smart mouth is genetic. Thank you for reading. Reviews are appreciated.

**- The Sorting Cat**


	9. From The Ashes

**Harry Potter: The Last Avatar**

**Book 1: Water**

**Chapter 9: From The Ashes**

Harry had been twelve years old when he decided to die. It hadn't exactly been a conscious choice, but looking back there could be no denying his intention. Why else would he have gone alone into the Chamber of Secrets? He hadn't thought that Hermione would live, and without her there to make him see reason he had found that he was, in essence, not a reasonable person.

He would have perished in that cave; burned with the snake, if Ginny Weasley had not stirred on the ground. He had thought her dead, but she was not, and this very much upset his plan because he did not know if he could allow her to burn and be buried with him. It had taken a boulder falling to the ground very near her head, as the ceiling started to collapse, to make him spring into action. It was a long way from the Chamber to the Hospital Wing but after an eternity of walking through the empty dark hallways he was standing outside its doors, bleeding and burned and filthy, with a small sleeping girl in his arms.

And then he'd heard Hermione's voice on the other side of the door. There were quite a lot of people talking - arguing, it sounded like - but he could easily pick out her voice. She was asking questions, of course. He would have rushed inside and gathered her into his arms, but the second he realized that she was alive there came the voice, whispering at him to run, warning him of danger. So he'd left Ginny Weasley on the floor outside the doors and fled.

_Tick tock, tick tock..._

He'd been different after, as if parts of him had been scorched and ruined in the flames of the Chamber. He had been more quiet. Less of a child, or at least he felt that way, and he started to resent being treated like one. Harry had started to look over his shoulder wherever he went - strange, how giving up had made him more afraid, not less - as something inside had started telling him to _hide, hide, hide_. To not rely on others, but to keep himself to himself.

Hermione had noticed the changes in him and compensated, realigning the dynamic of their friendship. She became more outgoing, more likely to joke around and to provoke him into action. He didn't mind. As long as she was around he knew who he was. It was when he was alone with his thoughts that things became difficult. The summer after second year was when the dream had started coming, and it was then that the Nargles must have started, if they were real, because after that his flame had not been as bright.

_And why shouldn't they be real, when creatures from my dreams are alive and walking the earth?_

* * *

There was a ticking; not a loud noise but a regular and demanding one. It cut through Harry's dreams of the past and slowly made him aware of himself. His body felt battered and bruised, but he could tell that he was not in the Hospital Wing - a rough blanket was scratching against his bare skin as he shifted, and he was lying on a thin mattress placed directly on the stone floor.

He also realized that someone was humming. Someone with very little musical sense.

Before doing anything else Harry took a deep breath. The air was stuffy and closed in, but it tasted sweet and he could feel the fire stirring inside. It was dormant though, not anywhere near an eruption, nor out of his reach. It was reassuring, and he allowed himself to open his eyes.

He had half-expected to see destruction all around him, but even though he didn't have his glasses on, and even though it was quite dark, Harry could make out that the stone floor next to his makeshift bed was unmarked. The only light was a little way off, where he could make out a figure sitting with its back to Harry. Whoever it was - male by the sound of the humming - had a lantern next to him and seemed to be busy at work with something. Harry started searching for his glasses, trying not to make a noise, but he must have alerted the man somehow, because though the figure did not stop its movements, it did speak.

"I never really liked that dragon." The voice was familiar but Harry couldn't place it. "I mean, why's there a big ugly creature like that when it's called 'Phoenix Hall'? Why not a phoenix? 'Course, they might not know what one looks like, but then - they say that Professor Dumbledore owns a phoenix. I don't rightly know if I believe that though, sir. I mean... how can you own a creature like that?"

The man seemed to be speaking mostly to himself, and he did not turn to look at Harry, who had just found his glasses, placed neatly by the side of the bed. He put them on, sat up and squinted at the figure.

"Maybe _the Professor_ is actually the bird's pet, eh?" The figure gave an odd high-pitched laugh, then seemed to catch himself and turned to look at Harry, inclining his head slightly and nervously saying "meaning no disrespect of course, sir," before getting back to his work.

"Dobby?" Harry pulled the blanket closer to his chest and, realizing that he was wearing nothing at all underneath, he looked around. "Where are my clothes?"

"All burned up, I'm afraid, sir," Dobby said cheerfully.

_Don't you remember what you did?_

"Ah, right" Harry said.

"Not to worry, sir, we'll soon have you kitted." There were stacks of clothing all around Dobby, and the servant did indeed appear to be sewing. The ticking sound was coming from Dobby's watch, which was lying open beside him.

There was a dressing gown lying neatly folded next to Harry's bed, and after making sure that Dobby's back was turned Harry slipped into it, his body protesting weakly with each movement. There was also a large glass of water, slightly chipped along the top but obviously fully functioning since it was full of water, and a platter of sandwiches. When Harry touched the glass his fingers left black smudges and he realized that he'd already blemished the bed and gown with the soot or ash that covered his body. Harry emptied the glass in one gulp, feeling the cold of the water running all the way down his throat and into his stomach, and then, finding that he was starving as well as parched, he attacked the sandwiches.

Looking around as he ate he noted that they were in a large and mostly empty hall, one that he didn't recognize. There was various clutter, broken furniture and such, throwing long shadows that all moved away from Dobby and his lone lantern. Harry wondered why he was not in the Hospital Wing or, considering his damage to school property, the dungeons. When they spoke there was an echo but there was also an inescapable closed-in feeling and he really should be worrying about the fact that he couldn't see any doors or windows...

"I'm terribly sorry, sir, but I got to ask you a favour, sir."

"Mm?" Harry said around a mouthful of sandwich.

"Oh, this is a bit embarrassing, but Dobby was not supposed to be there - in Phoenix Hall - if we're being all technical-like. Strictly speaking we're not allowed, us servants I mean, sir. Professor McGonagall likes her students to do the cleaning up, so if she found out Dobby was in there she would be right cross. So I'd ask you not to mention the whole thing, if it's not too much bother, sir."

Harry swallowed his mouthful and looked carefully at Dobby, who was still hard at work with his back to Harry. "So that's why you didn't take me to the Hospital Wing?" Harry asked flatly.

"Oh my!" Dobby exclaimed. "I'm so sorry sir, I weren't thinking straight - of course I should have taken sir to the Hospital Wing! Please forgive me!"

Harry continued to stare at Dobby's back. He could not detect the merest trace of anything disingenuous in the servant's tone of voice.

_He is either an imbecile or dangerously clever._

"And being found in that mess," Harry said, "would not exactly have looked great on my academic record..."

"Oh," Dobby said, sounding for all the world as if that thought was just now occurring to him, "I suppose so... Only, they could not have blamed Harry Potter for that mess when it was not Harry Potter what made it - it clearly could not have been Harry Potter."

"Clearly," Harry said.

"Because Dobby don't know much, but Dobby knows that a hundred of his Gryffindors cudda' been in there, throwing fire for all they could, and that dragon would not have moved. It's how they built it, Dobby knows that. Would'a taken more than just fire. So it could not have been a firebender what did it."

Harry had been extraordinarily calm up until this point, but now he felt the fire stirring, responding to some perceived threat. He irritably commanded it to go away, and to his surprise it did so meekly, simmering down deeper inside him.

"So, uh," Harry said, "what do you think happened?"

"Eh," Dobby said noncommittally, "Dobby's not so good at the whole 'thinking' thing. He leaves that to those what have the proper disposition."

"Good thinking."

* * *

"Where do all these passages go, Dobby?"

"Oh, it varies, sir."

"Okay, what about _that_ one?"

"Begging your pardon, sir, Dobby meant that it varies from time to time, not from passage to passage."

"I see."

Harry tore his eyes from the darkness of an intersecting tunnel and kept walking, banishing the dark with a flame in his hand and pulling his dressing gown closer to shield against a cold wind that blew from somewhere.

When Dobby had clicked his clock shut and announced that it was time to go, Harry had taken a serious look around the room. "Um. Go where, Dobby?" When Dobby did not respond he had added, feeling rather silly: "Because there are no doors..."

A slight rumbling sound had started then and Dobby had speedily finished packing all the clothes around him into a single neatly wrapped and enormous parcel before indicating the wall behind Harry in which, a moment later, a doorway had appeared.

"Quickly now!" Dobby had said, ushering Harry to go first and light the way, as Dobby had his arms full.

That was how Harry found himself wandering through this narrow stark corridor. Unlike many of the secret passages he'd found around the school, this one was completely void of dust, though here and there he could spot what looked like small amounts of sand. He supposed it made sense since the passages apparently made and re-made themselves constantly, but it made him wonder if the servants knew of those other _regular_ secret passages - how could they not? - and chose not to clean them in order for them to maintain their _ambiance_. He imagined Dobby in the hidden staircase between the dungeons and the library, painstakingly spreading and evening out a layer of dust.

In no time at all they were inside the Gryffindor common-room. Harry didn't even notice at first - he took a few step into the dimly lit room before blinking and gazing around at the familiar surroundings. The only light came from the fireplace and from Harry himself - the room was empty and the windows showed only their reflections.

Harry dispelled the fire in his hand and turned to Dobby, who promptly deposited his parcel in Harry's arms and then started bustling around, picking up dirty cups and glasses. Harry was strongly reminded of their first encounter as he plonked himself down in an armchair, already spent, and watched Dobby for the next few minutes. From his energetic way of working you'd never known that the servant had been up all night, caring for Harry.

Dobby had saved him from expulsion and worse - people asking questions. The young man had even managed to play it off like it was nothing; like Harry was doing him a favour, even, and he hadn't asked for anything in return. Harry felt guilty for almost forgetting that Dobby existed. It was not difficult, considering how invisible and efficient the Hogwarts servants made themselves.

"Wait," Harry said, because Dobby had given him a bow and a smile and seemed poised to disappear into the darkness. Harry pushed himself to his feet and sunk into a bow of his own, placing one closed fist underneath his other hand, which he held open and vertical in the style that was the fashion among Gryffindors.

"Harry Potter is too kind," Dobby said, and he sounded as if he meant it literally. He sunk into another bow, making sure to make his deeper than Harry's.

"I owe you," Harry said as they straightened, and he met Dobby's eye, trying to make him see.

Dobby just shook his head with a smile, patting the Gryffindor crest on his livery and backing towards the dark passageway. "Just doing my job, sir."

_Yeah, right._

"So, uh," Harry said uncomfortably, rushing to ask something that had been bothering him before Dobby disappeared, "whatever _did_ happen to Phoenix Hall, do you think they'll be able to fix it?"

"I wouldn't worry about it, sir. Might take time, but they'll sort it out. I mean, it's in the name - they say when a Phoenix gets old it burns up in a big fire, and then it's reborn from the ashes... That'd be something, wouldn't it?"

Harry did not comment.

"Oh!" Just before entering the passage Dobby turned around to add an afterthought. "I'd scrub myself off if I were you, sir."

Harry looked down at his hands, arms, legs, all still spotted and dirty with ash under his equally sodden dressing gown. He looked up in time to see the light reflected in Dobby's large eyes as he backed into the darkness. Harry thought that the servant might have winked, but he was not sure.

"Sometimes the most unlikely people can put two and two together." Dobby's voice was nearly drowned out by the gentle rumbling of earth. Ten seconds later the wall had closed itself behind him and Dobby had disappeared once more into the bowels of Hogwarts.

* * *

The clothes Dobby had given him - two complete sets of the school uniform and one red set of Gryffindor duelling robes - were better than the ones he'd had. They were not brand new and seemed to have been too large but Dobby had obviously tweaked and tailored them to Harry's size. Just holding one of the shirts up to his frame Harry could tell that it would fit him better than his old one.

He could not shake the feeling that he was hardly worthy of having Dobby in his corner - if he believed half the things Trewlaney went on about he would have given a prayer of thanks to whatever spirits of good will that had sent Dobby his way, but he didn't, so he simply resigned himself to waiting for something terrible to happen, balancing things out as they usually did. Dobby's presents were especially helpful because Harry had actually been running low on clothes - some had burned in the forest, even more had burned in Phoenix Hall.

_And you left your last black robe in Moody's office because Crouch showed up and you lost your grip on what was happening. You need to stop acting like a scared little child._

Harry sighed and looked towards the large bath, now full of water. As instructed he had ignored his sleepiness and gone to the Gryffindor boy's bathroom rather than the dorm. Harry never liked using the big bath, preferring the relative privacy of sitting on a secluded stool and scrubbing himself, but since it was the middle of the night and he was alone he had twisted the large faucets and inspected his new clothes while waiting for the pool to fill.

The surface of the water was dark except for a single reflection of the single lamp that he had lit. It was only a little pool - he _knew_ that - but he could not see the bottom, and it made him stop and hesitate, standing naked and staring at the surface of the water before blinking angrily.

_What did I just tell you? Are you still that child?_

The water stared back at him.

_I am not afraid of you._

Harry removed his glasses and climbed into the pool. The water was not very warm but after a minute of concentration he had it heating up pleasantly, a slight steam spreading through the room. He cleaned himself, and as he did, Moody's words came bubbling up to the surface.

_'You're out of sync with it. You want to run away while it wants to burn the world down.'_

He'd been running from Ginny Weasley for months, but now he had a feeling that she would not bother him again for a good long while. He considered the lies he'd told her and found that he did not feel bad, not even as he remembered the look on her face.

_You wouldn't have had to do that if she'd just left you alone._

It was when he stopped running and took charge that the situation resolved itself, and it was the same with Malfoy, who hadn't bothered Harry since their duel. Harry's plan had been a success, despite the hiccups, so he could assume that he was already clever and strong enough to deal with little snakes like Malfoy.

_But what about the big snakes?_

Harry looked down at himself and saw a small and weak body with thin legs and thinner arms. He had not been sleeping right, and he had not been eating right, and he'd been jumping at shadows, just as a child would. A child could not deal with its problems - it would whimper and cry and run, run, run...

Just a few hours ago Harry had been trying to think of ways to get out of his 'detentions' with Moody, but Crouch kept coming to him - in dreams and in reality - and he kept running away. Kept giving in to fear. Harry looked at his hands as the soot washed away, leaving pink unblemished skin behind but darkening the water all around him.

_I'll take whatever Moody can give me._

Harry submerged himself in the water and breathed a few bubbles from his mouth, watching serenely as they streamed up towards the surface.

_I won't keep running._

* * *

In the morning there was a message posted on the notice board in the Gryffindor common room, informing the students that Firebending Class would be held on the Duelling Grounds until further notice. During breakfast there was an abundant amount of speculation as to why this was, until a fifth year boy arrived at the Gryffindor table and announced that he knew the _real reason_. He had snuck into the firebending classroom on his way down from the tower, and he "immediately knew that something was off."

The fifth year boy was taking his time, gleefully enjoying the attention, but soon the story spread up and down the table: Phoenix Hall had been destroyed. Rubble covered the floor, which had cracked and shifted until it went up and down in waves. The hall that was always dark unless lit by the Gryffindor's flames was now bright with sunshine coming in through cracks in the ceiling. Its walls were blackened, its dragon was shattered, and the metal door separating the classroom from the Hall had been blasted off its hinges, wrecking a fair amount of the classroom outside. Several desks had been turned into ash and splinters.

Harry did not look up from his porridge.

* * *

Over the coming weeks Harry had to deal with a number of distractions.

He and Hermione were slowly but surely patching things up. They had slipped back into their usual routine, but the burn mark on her face, still not faded even though Pomfrey promised that it would go soon, stood as a constant reminder of what had happened. When Hermione caught him staring at it she would swat him, not softly, on the head.

With Draco Malfoy staying out of his path, and Ginny Weasley avoiding him like the plague, the major thorn in Harry's side was now Ron Weasley, who continued his efforts to _include_ both Harry and Hermione in his little group. No longer were the two of them permitted to have their meals in peace or sit unmolested at the back of the class without Weasley popping by for a word and a joke and an invitation to join him and "the others." In reaction to this they started spending even more time in the library, a place where Ron Weasley never appeared to go.

Harry did better in firebending class now - well above acceptable, though nowhere near extraordinary. He had found a level that he was comfortable working at and made sure not to push further than that. At first he considered staying after class, showing McGonagall the full extent of what he could do and asking for help or private tutoring, but the idea of showing off in such a way was quite appalling. Besides, whenever he was bending he had an uneasy feeling like he was standing at the edge of a precipice and one wrong move might send him tumbling into the depths, and there was always the chance that McGonagall would connect him to the destruction of Phoenix Hall, and he did not want that to happen in a million years.

So he participated in the regular lessons and did the regular exercises for focusing and channelling, and he thought that they might be helping him a little. Fire rarely spilled out of him without him willing it any longer, and he started to feel acutely embarrassed whenever it did. McGonagall seemed satisfied with his progress, anyway, and over the course of a few weeks she found enough small reasons to award back the ten points that she had taken from him at the start of the year. She had even smiled at him and said that she was glad that he was on the right path. Harry had thought of the headless dragon and tried to smile back.

The wreckage of Phoenix Hall had been added to the long list of Unsolved Hogwarts Mysteries. The rumour was that Fred and George Weasley, the resident "evil scientists", had been testing some home-made explosives and gotten more than they bargained for. Since it boosted their reputation the twins made no moves to confirm nor deny this - except when McGonagall herself came asking questions, when they had no qualms about denying it wholeheartedly.

But, as mentioned, all these things were mere distractions. Because the purpose of Harry's existence in the following weeks became trying to think of ways to _wipe the stupid smirk off Mad-Eye Moody's stupid face_. Although Harry had to admit that the smirk was not always there - in fact, when they fought, Moody usually had an even _more_ infuriating expression on his face: boredom.

Every Thursday he went to Moody's office in the evening, and every night he left with fresh bruises. Every session was similar to the first one; Harry was chi-blocked and given very little guidance, except for cryptic remarks and put-downs, and they fought until Moody said to stop. The difference from his first lesson was that Harry now applied himself and was constantly testing new things. Unfortunately, every time Harry opened a new door Moody held back a little less.

"What? I've got teeth too." Moody had pointed out when Harry had added "biting" to his repertoire of moves and then immediately regretted it.

Harry's fire came back much more gently after that first time, and nothing like a flare happened again, but he still made sure to lock the door when Moody left him to his meditating, so the only thing that bothered him as his fire seeped back was the thought that he did not seem to be improving at all, even after weeks and weeks.

Outside of his Thursdays Harry tried to beef up his exercise routine. Hogwarts had some mandatory training, as part of Duelling Class and the different bending classes, but the curriculum had been shifting towards academics in recent history. They were constantly installing new state of the art science laboratories and seemed to be somewhat neglecting the martial arts roots of the school. Sure, there were a lot of elective courses that involved physical exercise, but Harry had not selected any of them in his third year, and so he was forced to work around his schedule to find time.

He found a surprisingly large group of Hufflepuffs - and scatterings from other houses - that went on runs every morning before breakfast, and he immediately joined them. He didn't have any particular need for the company, and rarely talked to anyone, but running with others forced him to try to keep up, something that was at first very difficult, with his small legs and lack of conditioning, but which slowly got easier.

In Duelling Class Moody kept Harry out of the fray, allowing him to participate in the simple exercises but not selecting him for any of the more hardcore duels or tournaments that he regularly organized. Moody's erratic way of arranging duelling partners kept people from noticing that Harry never actually duelled anyone, and so Harry spent his time watching and thinking.

He watched the way people moved in the duelling circle and tried to figure out how each duel was won and why, hoping to get some clue as to how he could defeat Moody. Most of what he saw was useless, which was not surprising considering that most students in his year were not great duellists. Again and again he saw people make the same moves, staying within the boundaries set up by their element. It was fairly obvious that the Houses were trained separately and then thrown together for Duelling Class where they were meant to apply that training. Even though the duels were now much more serious than last year, most of them were still won only through raw strength, and Harry knew that he'd never beat Moody like that (not while his chi was blocked, at least).

* * *

"I think Madam Pomfrey might explode soon."

"Oh?"

"She's been making all sorts of threats... She wants to know why I'm showing up so battered each week."

"Tell her it's because you're not learning fast enough?"

"Yeah, sure... But I think she'll go to Dumbledore."

"Ugh. Fine, I'll sort it out."

"Really? How?"

"I'll talk to her."

Harry laughed openly at this and was rewarded with a punch to the chest, but the next time he saw Moody he noticed that the old Professor had a bruise on his cheek. Since Harry was constantly trying to add bruises to Moody's body he knew very well that the mark - which looked like it had come from quite a _hefty_ slap - had not been there the day before. Harry smirked at the Professor and was given a warning look that said 'not a word, boy', to which Harry responded with a look that said 'who, me?'

To Harry's surprise Pomfrey actually _did_ stop asking where Harry got his bruises, though every Thursday night when Harry came by she healed his marks while growling a commentary under her breath along the lines of "that _man_" and "more _beast_ than man..."

* * *

One day Harry realized that he had, at some point, started watching how people moved _outside_ the duelling circle as well as inside it. In the Great Hall he watched conversations from afar and tried to read peoples interactions from how they moved their bodies in relation to one another. He saw how girls and boys would lean towards one another to show interest and how the flow of the conversation, the right to speak, was passed back and forth in an intricate dance of body language. He watched how people _walked_ down the corridors of Hogwarts and tried to figure out what their fighting style would be like.

Ron Weasley had a certain swagger in his step that showed itself in the duelling circle - it made him sloppy and loose while the firebending stances he used called for rigour and firmness. Malfoy, conversely, had quite a stiff walk, and though he used the proper push-and-pull of the waterbending fighting style, there was an undertone of calculation to Malfoy's movements - he did not flow as freely as he might have. Harry couldn't help but think that if Weasley and Malfoy somehow _traded_ their ways of walking, they would both become better fighters. He also wondered what would happen if every single student had their bending taken away and were told to fight. Who'd win?

He even experimented with his own body, trying to, for a day, assume the posture and walk of an earthbender. He kept slipping though, and he gave up on it after Hermione asked if he was constipated.

* * *

He started skipping Trewlaney's class to watch the fifth and sixth years, who took Duelling Class together. With a larger class, Moody created even stranger constellations and matches, for instance allowing them to form their own teams of three and pitting those teams against one another. Harry watched as Alicia Spinnet, Katie Bell and Angelina Johnsson worked together as a well-oiled machine, taking down nearly any competition with ease.

Harry couldn't help but think that while three firebenders were a good team, because they already had the same patterns of movement and thinking, a _great_ team would have to consist of students from different Houses. He watched Spinnet, Bell and Johnsson pool their flames into a single stream that overpowered their opponents, and thought that no matter how well they worked together, they would still be limited in what they were be capable of doing.

Moody seemed to agree, as he then split the class into groups of four, with each team member coming from a different House. The results were disastrous - an extreme lack of coordination combined with an outrageous amount of squabbling. Moody observed all this stoically, but Harry was starting to get a sense that Moody only ever did anything for his own hidden amusement, and he smirked at the thought of a little baby Moody, eyepatch and pegleg in place, playing with dolls fashioned into the likeness of various Hogwarts students.

* * *

It was on their fifth lesson that Harry asked if Moody would teach him how to block chi.

Moody had chuckled darkly. "And why would you need to be able to do that?"

"So I can do it on myself?" Harry offered. "To train."

"You will _not_ attempt this outside my supervision, Potter, is that clear?"

Harry nodded reluctantly.

"Once a week isn't enough for you?" Moody grumbled. "I do have lessons to plan, you know, I can't be wasting _all_ my time on the likes of you."

"I was just thinking for when you're not around," Harry said, then added as an afterthought: "Sir."

"I'm around, Potter. And I'm not going anywhere soon. Anyway, being able to chi-block might strictly speaking be illegal, but _teaching it_ - oh ho ho - that's a whole other level! That's the sort of thing that gets you a one-way ticket to the Boiling Rock."

Harry looked around. "Hm," he said to himself, "we still appear to be in your classroom. I thought the only law that mattered in here was your word."

"Don't get smart with me, Potter."

"You'd prefer me to be dumb, Professor?"

Mad-Eye glared at him and muttered something like: "If I did some spirit must have already granted my wish..."

Moody hadn't spoken more of it, and Harry hadn't asked again, but he couldn't stop thinking that being able to chi-block would be incredibly valuable. He thought of Barty Crouch lying helpless and paralysed beneath him and found that the idea felt _wrong_ and yet exhilarating at the same time.

* * *

Crouch had approached Harry twice more during this time, seemingly only to small talk and to send chills running up and down Harry's spine with his smiles. Harry managed to keep his wits about him each time, more or less, and their interactions had been brief, but they had also been public and annoyingly they served to raise Harry's esteem in the eyes of Ron Weasley and whoever else happened to be watching.

Apparently the illustrious Auror Captain was never seen talking to _anyone_, and apparently it was okay to ask Harry all manner of questions about what they talked about. It was all rather frustrating since _all Harry wanted_ was for Crouch to stop talking to him. His fire came rising to the surface every time, but even more disturbingly Harry found something black and ugly and angry rising up inside his mind each time, and he did not like that part of himself, whatever it was.

To Harry's astonishment, Crouch actually ruffled Harry's hair before leaving at the end of their second conversation, and inside Harry something was screaming.

* * *

"I thought, at first, that these detentions would be more about learning how to _not_ fight."

"How so?"

"Well, you said..." Harry couldn't quite bring himself to repeat what Moody had said, so he started again: "I just want to control it."

Moody grimaced. "Control _what_?"

"Well..." Harry did not want to say 'the voice' because that would sound crazy.

Moody gave an exasperated sigh. "Look, sorry to break it to you, kid, but _all_ the voices in your head are _you_. No getting around that. Can't blame some little demon creeping into your ear at night."

Harry said nothing.

"It's not your enemy. I am. Now, get your goggles on!"

* * *

Hermione was torn between praising Harry for taking an interest in his well-being and frustration with his newfound neglect of the academic side of things. "Do you even _like_ studying anymore?" she had asked him; a question that would probably have seemed absurd or ironic if said by anyone else their age.

The question did make sense though, because for years Harry and Hermione had been the studious kids in their class, and now Harry was abandoning that to become something else. Even though he'd never approached her level in terms of results, he _had_ enjoyed throwing himself into his work, spending countless hours reading and learning with Hermione. But now he found that he didn't have a _studious_ mindset as much as an _obsessive_ one, and now that his obsessive focus had shifted to other things he simply did not have as much patience for frivolities such as "taking notes" or "homework" or, occasionally, "showing up for class."

They were sitting in the common room, chatting and reading on their usual out-of-the-way armchairs, a cool - bordering on cold - evening breeze flowing in through the window between them, when Hermione very suddenly snatched Harry's notebook out of his hands. Harry automatically sprung from his chair, intent on recapturing the book, but Hermione was, embarrassingly, fully capable of holding it high above her head and out of his reach like a common schoolyard bully.

"I saw you writing during that _whole class_, Harry, so if you weren't taking notes, what on earth were you doing?"

Harry replayed their conversation in his mind and remembered absently asking if she could lend him her notes from Binns' last lecture, the one on how the power structure of the Republic changed after the First Equalist Revolution up until Grindelwald's rise to power.

"Hermione," he said tiredly, making a grab for the book, but she held it higher still. He knew that she was half joking - the whole situation was absurd - but her actions reminded him of his small stature, his inability to make a successful move against Moody, against Crouch.

_So do something about it._

He did not need to take stock of his surroundings nor analyse their postures, their positions, or movements. It was all already there, parsed in his head, and when he decided to act he moved with certainty.

Two seconds later he had her lowered into a dip, as if they were dancing, both her arms locked in place between their bodies. His arms were around her, holding her up, so he could not take the book, but she was so surprised that she dropped it, which was what Harry had counted on. He lowered her onto a soft footstool and scooped the notebook off the floor triumphantly.

Standing back up he noticed quite a few heads turned their way and he sat back in his armchair feeling suddenly uncomfortable. He could face a great big troll of a man in hand to hand combat every week but a crowd of people directing their attention at him would still undo him...

"Sorry about that," he muttered to Hermione, who was sitting on the footstool now, looking rather shell-shocked, "but you could have just _asked_." He handed the notebook back to her, which seemed to jolt her back to the present and she flicked through it, her eyes growing wide.

"I didn't know you could draw," she mumbled.

"I can't."

Hermione huffed, not raising her eyes from the book. "Have a look at _anything I ever drew_ and say that again with a straight face..."

No matter what Hermione said, the pictures he'd scratched down were all, to a greater or lesser extent, _failures_. They were attempts to capture movement, endless flawed images of people walking, running and - most of all - fighting, bending, duelling. After admiring all his images Hermione spent several minutes staring at the many diagrams, notes, and criss-crossing arrows meant to find and explain the process of a perfect duel.

When she had been gazing blankly at the same page for a good two minutes Harry lifted the notebook from her unresisting hands and she transferred her gaze to him, watching him like he was a math problem she couldn't quite make sense of yet.

"You know," Harry said, to break the silence, "you're not as heavy as I thought you'd be."

"Wow. Thanks."

"That was a compliment, more or less."

"Why are you doing this?"

_I made you a promise._

But there was more to it than that, now, and there was a silence as Harry considered how to best explain it. _He_ knew why, but he was not sure that he could put it into words.

"It's like this riddle," he said finally, absently drawing circles on the cover of the notebook in his lap, "that you've had at the back of your mind forever, and you've been ignoring it, because you've been nowhere near solving it. But then you start thinking that you might actually know the answer and then you just can't stop nagging at it... You know?"

He looked up. Hermione's expression plainly told him that, no, she did not know. Harry sighed and scratched the back of his head with both hands. He was getting to be as cryptic and unhelpful as Moody. Which reminded him…

"I've got to go. Detention."

Hermione said nothing, just watched him as he stood up, walked off, and slipped away through the portrait hole.

* * *

**This is an _in-between_ chapter in many ways - the first half concludes the story from the previous chapter and the second half begins the story of the next one. But it made sense to split it up like this. Anyway, it feels good to start doing some time jumps, finally moving away from those first few days of class and starting to see what impact those eventful first few days have had on Harry.**

**I would like to emphasize that, no, Hermione can't draw. She only reads books and she can not draw (even if she's reading about how to draw).**

**Thanks for reading. Reviews are appreciated.**

**- The Sorting Cat**


	10. Phoenix

**Author's Note**

**As always - thank you for your reviews and thank you for reading, and many thanks to Trowa no Miko for the beta work. Here is chapter ten. I feel like I've been writing this chapter forever.**

* * *

**Harry Potter: The Last Avatar**

**Book 1: Water**

**Chapter 10: Phoenix**

"So, still not entering?"

"Hm?" Harry was assisting an antlered rabbit with its grooming, brushing its heavy spotted fur coat, and he was generally focused on keeping said rabbit's antlers from poking at his face and mouth as it shifted comfortably in his lap.

"First round's this weekend, isn't it?"

"Oh, right, the Duelling Championship... Yes, it is - and no, I'm not entering."

"Oh right, I forgot. You're _scared_."

"Terrified," Harry agreed dryly. "Quaking in my boots."

"Even though Malfoy won last year, and you practically beat him..."

He looked up at Parvati, who was sitting cross-legged on the ground across from him and had her attention on a painfully adorable long-eared bunny. They should not have been native this far north, but this one had somehow gotten misplaced here and joined the pack of antlered rabbits that the class was tending to today. The bunny did not seem completely content in her arms - it was whipping its head back and forth, its long floppy ears flying here and there, but she held it tighter still, patiently cleaning its remarkably dirty fur.

Harry had continued to partner up with Parvati Patil during Creatures Class, and he found her to be quite good company when removed from the poisonous element of Lavender Brown. She was witty and as they tended to whatever creatures Hagrid could entice into coming out of the forest and joining them, Harry found himself joking around with her in a way that had previously been reserved only for Hermione. The difference was that he and Hermione had developed their banter over years, and it was based on a deep understanding on one another's thoughts and feeling, while he and Parvati had all the banter with none of the understanding, which meant that occasionally she would make a joke that rubbed him the wrong way. In the same manner Harry quickly learned through her sudden silences that while Parvati might badmouth Lavender all day, it was not Harry's place to join in.

"But, could be interesting," Parvati said. "To watch, I mean. _I'm_ certainly going, anyway."

"Well, _I'm_ certainly also going," Harry countered. The thought of getting an undisturbed view of the elite upperclassmen duelling was enough to put a grin on his face.

"Perhaps we should make a combined effort to take in the new arena then," Parvati said, not looking up from her bunny, which was now trying ineffectually to escape her clutches.

"Isn't Lavender going?" Harry asked, slightly taken aback. No matter how well he and Parvati got along during class he didn't think that they'd held as much as half a conversation outside of Creatures.

"Yes, but she'll be busy cheering for her _Won-Won_," Harry snickered and stored this nickname away for future use, "and that can get a bit tiring."

"Certainly."

"Well? Should we?"

Harry hesitated for a second, because Hermione was going to "try to get some work done" and so he'd been planning on getting an undistracted view of the duels and to sit and scribble in his notebook. But he could sense Parvati sensing his hesitation and he didn't like that.

"Of course we should!" he said, as though it was obvious.

* * *

The new arena was another Unsolved Hogwarts Mystery as far as Harry was concerned. Almost this whole term, to McGonagall's hilariously suppressed irritation, their firebending exercises had been disturbed by the sound of diligent hammer-strokes and shrill drilling and the sounds of other great big machines that Harry did not pretend to understand. No expense had been spared and boats had streaked back and forth across the lake carrying workers and materials and machines, all bearing the Future Industries logo, and just as the Duelling Grounds themselves had been transformed by Moody, the aged wooden stands that surrounded the circles had been transformed into a proper arena.

_Who paid for this?_

As Harry flowed along with the crowd down from the school and towards the impressive new structure, he could not help but feel slightly depressed. Hogwarts had always been a sanctuary, a comforting, never-changing piece of the past, but now, even though he was surrounded by fellow students and even though they were all wearing their uniforms, he felt as if he was back in Diagon, trying to stop his head from spinning.

"Isn't it grand?" Parvati asked, looking up at the Hogwarts crest, embedded above the wide archway that was now the main entrance to the arena. At least it _was_ the Hogwarts crest, and not the seal of the Republic, but Harry thought gloomily that it might as well have been. Because there were Aurors, in their impressive uniforms, standing at either side of the gate, and what with the newfangled concrete design of the arena it was as if a little piece of Republic City had emigrated to the Hogwarts grounds.

_Invaded._

"Yes," Harry agreed. "Grand."

They had no problems finding a good spot in a section of the stands that was not too crowded, despite the fact that the whole school seemed to have showed up to have a look at the finally finished arena. The varied landscape that Moody had crafted looked strange when surrounded by these endless rows of uniform seats...

"Ow."

Parvati had jolted him from his brooding by punching his arm. "Look!" she said, pointing and sounding genuinely excited in a way that was quite rare. "Is that what I think it is?"

Harry pushed his glasses further up his nose and squinted down at a whole bunch of unknown men - not teachers, and far too scruffy and eccentric-looking to be associated with the Aurors - clustered around some sort of large boxlike device standing on a tripod. The men were all talking over one another and moving the box back and forth in tiny increments, angrily pointing at the field and then at each other.

"I have no idea," Harry said. "But it seems terribly important."

"That's a film camera! And look, there's another one!"

There were indeed several of the contraptions standing spaced around the arena, and Harry peered down at them with new interest. They looked a little like regular cameras, but elongated and with round boxes attached - to hold rolls of film?

"Look at that lens!" Parvati said, and as far as Harry could tell she was referring to the long pipe sticking out of the front of one device. "It's almost like a binocular - it must be to help them shoot from a distance!"

"Shoot," Harry repeated dully. He had very little insight into these things except that he'd thought that film cameras would be bigger.

"Did you see 'Two Avatars, Two Dragons'? Did you like it?"

Harry grimaced but kept himself from groaning in the face of her obvious enthusiasm. "Do you even need to ask?" he said, avoiding the actual question. "I thought that _everybody_ liked it."

"Except you!" Parvati gasped - because obviously Harry was not as subtle as he thought - and then added, gleefully: "There's something _wrong with you_!"

"Okay," Harry said, abandoning his feigned indifference and throwing a leg over the bench to sit facing her, "let me get this straight: you sat through the entirety of that eleven reel monstrosity and didn't walk away from it wanting to throw yourself off a building? _How_?"

"What's wrong with it?" she called out in affront, but she had mirrored him, and they were facing one another now.

They argued about the film for a good ten minutes, exaggerating with increasingly ridiculous superlatives (and Parvati surprised him by throwing in the occasional crass expletive). They were both trying and failing to hide how much they were enjoying the argument. In the end Parvati crossed her arms, turning back towards the stadium.

"You just don't get it."

That was true enough. By now Harry's mind had flown back to that summer day, when Lily Potter had dragged him out of his dark little refuge of a room and across town to then playfully but firmly inform him that she did not want to see him again until she was finished at the lab, which would be at seven. She'd given him money to buy food and instructed him not to leave the safety of Diagon under any circumstance. The idea had been to get him out of the house, he supposed, and so the decision to spend a large part of his time in a dark theatre hall was probably largely fuelled by teenage spite.

The film had started with Avatar Aang on his deathbed, surrounded by friends and family and managing to give a long incomprehensible speech before finally kicking the bucket. The film had then cut to Avatar Korra, as played by a regal looking middle aged woman with a pinched face, meditating on a frozen mountaintop built out of painted planks of wood. Some man had arrived and given her the news of terrible goings on in Republic City, and to plead with her to come and help. The gentleman delivering the news - Harry could not remember who it was supposed to be - had been given an inordinate amount of screen time and was depicted as some sort of assistant or companion to Korra as they travelled, hidden, to Republic City.

Korra had become incensed as she saw the condition that the Republic was in - with non-benders being rounded up and forced into menial manual labour or enlisted against their will in an army meant to invade the rest of the world. With her assistant's help she had managed to bypass the heavy security around the then 'President' of the Republic, and to stage a private confrontation with Grindelwald, played by a huge hulking man, in the inner sanctum of his palace.

Then the film got weird. It started cutting back and forth between Korra's battle with Grindelwald and Aang's battle with Firelord Ozai. (The younger Aang, who was, according to Harry's memory, supposed to be twelve years old, was played by a short man who was clearly somewhere in his twenties.) The two fights were obviously meant to parallel one another, but since both 'battles' consisted mostly of intellectual rhetoric, interspersed with short bouts of actual fighting, it got boring quickly. Even the fighting itself - for which the film had been praised, since they'd thought up all manner of tricks to make it look as if the actors were bending more than one element - had been as stale and lifeless as the dialogue, in Harry's humble opinion.

So Harry had patiently explained to Parvati how she must be some sort of robot if she didn't find the film entirely too melodramatic and supremely fake. Parvati had in turn explained that Harry's brain must be a little too small to realize that the film was _supposed_ to be larger than life - that of course you were aware that it wasn't realistic but that once you accepted that (if you had the brain capacity to do so) then you would be immersed in a completely wondrous world! Harry had asked what was so wondrous about a story where everybody died at the end, and that was when Parvati proclaimed that he "just didn't get it".

"Look," Harry said, in a last-ditch effort to make his point, "there _famously_ weren't any witnesses to the fight between Korra and Grindelwald, right?"

"So?" Parvati said, arms crossed and smirking out at the field.

"So most of the film was, by definition, made up! _Everyone_ watched that film, and everyone loved it - for some strange reason - so now everyone goes around thinking that's exactly what happened, because they _saw_ it happen. But it isn't true - it's just the product of some writer's tepid imagination!"

"So what?" Parvati said, rolling her eyes at him. "Who cares if it's true if it's a good story?"

Lee Jordan's voice had then exploded out of a nearby speaker to welcome them all to "A Fabulous day of Fighting Fun!", and Parvati had, regrettably, gotten the last word.

Harry sighed. Parvati Patil could say what she liked - as could the film critics of Republic City, who had given 'Two Avatars, Two Dragons' all the awards they had, and invented a few new ones for the sole purpose of giving them to the film - but Harry still preferred his history books, where the lies were, at least, less blatant.

* * *

The first years came on first and did their tiny little duels, and Harry noted that they were all doing quite well for first years. True, their attacks did not have much power behind them but their form was generally not terrible and they were certainly taking it very seriously - no one gave up without being incapacitated or pushed from their circle. Moody was obviously drilling them harder and better than Lockhart ever had.

"Were we really ever that small?" Parvati asked, squinting down at the duel currently in progress, where a first year Ravenclaw named Stewart Ackerley was running circles around Gryffindor Jimmy Peakes.

"Yes," Harry said, his attention focused on Ackerley. Peakes tossed flame after flame but the thin Ravenclaw boy deflected all of them with gusts of wind or, more often, sidestepped the attacks smartly.

"Well, maybe _you_ were - you still are, almost - but I don't think _I've_ ever been that small."

Harry suppressed some irritation and made an effort to keep the conversation going. "We _were_ that small, but we weren't in a huge stadium like this, and we weren't fighting on a landscape like that…" He thought back to the simple circles painted on the grass, in which they had done what passed for 'duelling' back then, and was struck by a sudden thought. "Didn't you compete, first year?"

"I did. You beat me, remember?"

"Oh." He didn't. "Right."

Parvati huffed in mock annoyance and Harry's attention shifted from the fight on the field to the girl sitting right next to him, a stray thought drifting through his mind. He watched how she sat on the bench, how she held herself, and he wondered what difference it would have made if she had been an airbender rather than a firebender...

"What?"

He'd noticed, too late, that he was staring.

"Um - I was thinking about your sister..."

"You were?" Parvati raised a single eyebrow.

"No, I meant... I've been watching the way she walks."

"You've been _watching the way she walks_?"

"Well, no, I mean - I've been watching you too!"

"Here, keep digging, I'm sure you'll strike gold." She mimed handing him a shovel and laughed when he sputtered.

"What I meant was - the two of you walk differently. She has this flow in her movements, this lightness when she walks, while your posture is more straight and confident."

"Yes," Parvati agreed solemnly, "this is not a creepy and strange conversation at all."

Parvati was joking, but not really, and so Harry did not say: 'But your confident stride is forced - a shield to hide uncertainty and a habit beaten into you by McGonagall.'

"Do you and your sister ever fight?" Harry asked instead, unable to release this train of thought.

"You have a sick mind, Harry."

"Yes, yes, that's been established. But do you fight?"

"We're sisters - what do you think?"

Harry shrugged. "Don't know. Only child."

"Hah! Must be nice to get all the attention."

Harry laughed, a little too harshly.

"Well, anyway," Parvati said, peering at him suspiciously as if he might be making fun of her, "trust me, all siblings fight."

"And who wins? Between you and Padma, I mean."

"Hm..." Parvati considered for a moment - or she was simply unwilling to give a straight answer. "Did you ever play 'water, fire, earth'?"

"Uh, sort of. Sure."

"Well, water beats fire, fire beats earth, and earth beats water..." Parvati did the appropriate hand gestures as she talked - a flat hand for water, an open hand, fingers wiggling, for fire, and a closed fist for earth. "But air isn't even part of the game. Why?"

"Because with four legal moves there'd be too many variables for a children's game?"

Parvati shook her head. "Try again."

"Okay... Well, I guess it's based on reality. Earth might taint water, turn it into mud, and water can put out fire and fire can burn the earth. I guess air is sort of... different?"

Parvati nodded. "You can't beat air. Try to strike it and you'll just wear yourself out. So yeah, as much as I hate to admit it, Padma would usually win."

_Can't beat air..._

He noticed Parvati looking at him strangely and realized that he'd murmured the phrase out loud.

"You're a weird one, Harry Potter."

"It's part of my charm."

"You wish."

Harry turned his attention back to the field, where the Ravenclaw boy, Ackerly, was doing a good job of keeping himself out of harm's way and of exhausting Peakes, but he did not seem to have any real strategy for actually finishing the duel. It was, Harry supposed, a characteristic of airbending - constantly being on the move, escaping rather than confronting.

_Maybe you have some airbender in you._

An earth- or a waterbender could end duels by constructing traps from rock or ice, but fire- and airbenders were in the same corner in that they had no such option. Out of the two, fire was much more aggressive but there were airbending techniques - giant winds and spirals of air - that Ackerly could have used to end the fight if he hadn't been a first year and lacked the raw power.

There was something tickling at the back of Harry's mind.

_'You can't beat air.'_

He grasped at the thought because somehow he knew that it was important, but he got sidetracked by the loud electric BUZZZ that signalled that the time limit had been reached, ending the duel as a draw between Peakes and Ackerly.

_Between fire and air._

You can't beat what you can't hit, but you can't win if you don't fight back. Harry looked down at himself. He was, just as Parvati had pointed out, still very small. His exercise regime had done little to change that - he had slightly better stamina and conditioning now, but it seemed that he was doomed to be forever lean and slim, never becoming a particularly impressive example of male physique.

_Neither was Aang._

When he'd tried to emulate the walk of an airbender for a day he'd been much more comfortable than when he'd tried the strong earthbender walk, although he'd felt a tiny bit silly, stepping so lightly. What with their penchant for avoiding and deflecting, and their often small packaging - Flitwick was the only Hogwarts Professor that Harry was taller than, for goodness' sake - Harry had to admit that the airbender way of moving and fighting did resonate with some part of him.

But there were other parts as well... Moody had said that half of Harry wanted to run away and that half of him wanted to burn the world down. Neither extreme was great, but what if if those two parts could be moulded together? Harry's head was spinning slightly, and he glanced at Parvati, who was watching the next duel with interest, before surreptitiously pulling out his notebook, trying to quell his excitement.

* * *

"Wow, those are good!"

"Thank you."

_No, they're not._

"I mean... They might not be completely correct, but there's absolutely an energy there... Why don't you take Arts Class?"

Harry shrugged.

"It's probably a good thing... We had this drawing master, because Padma wanted to draw, so I know all the rules and proper perspective and everything, and everything I ever make comes out completely and totally lifeless." She laughed. "It's like I can see this great lively picture in my head, and when I try to put it down on paper it comes out dull and strict and not at all what I had in mind."

"That's dangerous," Harry agreed.

He knew that he should be paying more attention, talking more, but Cho Chang was duelling, and Harry could not look away. His pencil moved across the paper almost of its own accord as he stared and tried to capture her spinning and twirling, but it was all happening too fast and he was getting it all wrong and becoming irritable.

Duel after duel had been fought in the arena and the afternoon was getting on but Harry, who had kept a particularly close eye on the Ravenclaw contestants, had not found or captured what he was looking for. The airbenders, like everyone else, mostly won their duels through raw power - like Ron Weasley, blasting through the walls created by of some fifth year Hufflepuff boy - or trickery - like Draco Malfoy, distracting and confusing Katie Bell, who was still formidable but less coordinated now that she was on her own and not working as a team with Angelina and Alicia. "A win is a win," was the thinking that Moody had instilled in them, but Harry was searching for more than tricks.

Chang was duelling now, however, and it was remarkably different. She had a sort of minimalist approach, meaning that Harry was finally getting a display of airbending boiled down to its very essence. She was duelling Seamus Finnigan, of all people, and outmanoeuvring the hotheaded Gryffindor every step of the way.

The competition was divided into four leagues - the first years had their own thing, but above that the second and third years were combined, as were the fourth and fifth years and the sixth and seventh. That meant that last year Malfoy had defeated all the competitors from their year as well as the year below, but this time he and Weasley and the others - like poor Seamus - were up against the fifth years as well as their fellow fourth years.

As Harry knew, Seamus had quite a lot of power but very little precision, and the wide area attacks he tried to overpower Cho Chang with had him running out of energy quite quickly. Cho, on the other hand, didn't seem to be bending at all - she just twirled and spun and managed to _not be_ wherever Seamus' fire was. Eventually, when Seamus was almost running on fumes, Cho danced closer, in and around his defences, and blasted him from the circle with a great gust of air.

Harry's pencil broke against the paper.

* * *

"Hm," Parvati said, "we'd better get moving."

Everyone was standing up. The clever people had already started moving halfway through the last duel because it was going to be much more difficult to get out of this arena than it had been to jump from the old wooden stands. Harry sighed and got up, and they stepped into a crowded aisle, making their slow way down the stands. When they reached the bottom row, which was a sort of pathway leading around the whole arena, raised five feet or so above the actual field, the flow of people wasn't as thick and Harry sighed in relief, reclaiming some of his personal space.

"Hey, Harry! Harry Potter!"

Harry turned and looked down at the field where he saw Cho Chang approaching, her light blue duelling robes looking impeccable, as if she hadn't wiped the floor with several other contestants over the past few hours.

"Miss Chang!" Harry nodded at her. He was stuck looking down at her over the waist high barrier that separated the pathway from the field, so they were in a rather awkward position for conducting any kind of conversation, even before Parvati appeared at Harry's elbow.

"Parvati?" Cho said, raising her eyebrows at the younger girl.

"Cho," Parvati said, somewhat cordially.

"Um -" Harry started.

"Harry, I was wondering if I could have a word," Cho cut him off, and it sounded more like a challenge than a request. He could see something hard in her eyes and the same tenseness in her body that was in her stance just before a duel would start.

"Uh, sure?"

"In private, I mean." Cho gave Parvati a look that was not unfriendly, though it was rather pointed. It was the type of look that carried more than just one meaning, and Harry realized suddenly that through Parvati's sister the two girls might actually know each other better than Harry knew either of them.

"Actually," Parvati said, crossing her arms, "we were -"

"It's about Luna," Cho cut in, turning back to Harry.

_Luna._

Harry swung over the railing, touching down on the field just beside Cho.

"What's the matter? Is something wrong?"

"Well," Cho said, and then trailed off, looking up towards the railing where Parvati now stood alone.

"I'll see you later, yeah?" Harry said, and Parvati stared back at him for a few seconds before quickly nodding and leaving, flowing away into the crowd.

"You're insatiable..." Cho muttered.

"What's going on with Luna?"

"I was hoping you could tell me." The coldness in Cho's voice was even more apparent now that they had no audience.

"Why are you upset?" He didn't think he would've dared to say those words to Cho Chang, but he did, puzzlement overruling his manners and embarrassment alike.

"Well here's the thing," Cho said, taking a step towards him, "_I'm not an idiot_."

Harry took a step back, murmuring some half-response along the lines of "never said so," and watching Cho carefully. She was taking heavy steps towards him, moving more like an earthbender than her usual self, and it was a bit unnerving.

"So when someone tells me that they're going into the _Forbidden_ Forest with a younger girl, I'm hardly going to leave it at that. Am I?"

"No," Harry muttered, "of course not." He was only half paying attention, distracted by her body, though not for the usual reasons. It was as if she was forcing a different gait and attitude in order to intimidate him, not realizing that her usual airbender movements would have worked better since they showed she meant business.

"Maybe I'm half an idiot, because I didn't tell Professor Flitwick immediately - which is what I should have done, considering what happened next. A forest fire! A firebender goes into the forest after a young girl, and then there's a forest fire, and when she _finally_ comes back she is sopping wet - spends the next week in bed with a fever, by the way - and her robes are _covered in mud_ as well as _singed_."

Some of the guilt Harry felt must have shown on his face, because Cho narrowed her eyes and when she approached this time she dropped the earthbender act and went back to her usual graceful and dangerous self. Harry's hand flew up, but she spun and somehow he was caught, held lightly against the wall.

_Damn - how does she _do_ that?_

"What exactly did you do to her?" Cho asked, not pushing him but gently holding him against the wall. A light touch only, but with the promise of pain hidden behind it.

"I didn't do anything to her," Harry muttered, though he was barely aware of what he was saying now that she was leaning in to pierce him with her dark eyes. Not quite able to bear the intensity he looked just above her eyes instead - her pitch black hair was tied back, braided and knotted around her head to keep it out of the way, but it still shone, reflecting the late afternoon light right back at him.

"Is that why she doesn't eat? Why you can't find her in the tower - can't find her in class?"

"You said she skips class all the time..."

"It's never been like this, Harry Potter." Her hand tightened on his chest, gripping the front of his robes now. "What did you do?"

An image flashed before him of little Luna, her hair streaming up towards the dark sky that was reaching down to pluck Harry up, and finding Luna instead... At first he hadn't thought about the forest because he hadn't _wanted_ to think about it, and then Moody had set him on a path where everything else faded into the background, and he hadn't thought about Luna Lovegood in weeks and weeks... But he was thinking about her now, and he was fairly certain that she had, quite literally, saved his life, and that's not the sort of thing one is allowed to forget.

_She's also one of the - what, three people? - who you've let see you cry._

"Look," Harry said, meeting her eye now, and while he made no move to extricate himself he no longer cowered under Cho Chang's mere presence. "I would never do anything to harm Luna. And I don't know what's up with her, but if I can help then I will."

Cho held his gaze for a long moment and Harry hoped she could see some of the certainty that he felt inside. Finally, she retracted her hand and took a step back, letting out a long breath. She looked very tired, much more tired than she ever looked after a duel.

"I'm not going to apologize," she said firmly.

"You shouldn't," Harry said, easing himself away from the wall and taking a step or two, trying to shake off the tenseness. "That was a strange day. I can see why you'd... Well, I'm glad she has someone to watch her back."

_We should have been watching her back._

"I'll talk to her," Harry said, staring off into space and wondering where Luna would be at this very second. "We'll figure it out..."

Cho watched him for a moment longer and then sighed. "I'm sorry," she said, despite her earlier proclamation.

Harry shrugged and they stood in awkward silence.

"Congratulations," Harry said, nodding towards the field, where a few people were now walking around, rebuilding parts of the circles that had been wrecked during the day. "You did great."

Cho made a non-committal hum. "It can't have been too interesting - you spent the whole time reading your book."

"Ah," Harry said, rather surprised that she'd noticed. "Actually, I was -" but he cut himself off, stopping his hand which was halfway inside his book-bag already.

_Do not show her that book. There are way too many sketches of her in it._

Harry stood frozen, looking at Cho and thinking of the many failed sketches, and a question sprung to mind. She was watching him right back, eyebrows raised, and he didn't think he'd dare to say it, but this was too good an opportunity to let slip away.

"Actually, I was wondering... Well, this might seem a bit strange, but I want to ask you a favour."

"What?" Cho asked, the scepticism clear in her tone.

"I need you to show me something."

* * *

Slowly, so slowly, her fist sailed towards him through the air. There was no avoiding it, not in the position he was in; not without breaking the flow - not without speeding up.

"So if I come at you like this," Harry had started, simply punching towards her in slow motion.

"Then I might do this," Cho had said, sidestepping neatly, keeping the same slow pace.

"But what if that was a feint?" Harry had said, altering his advance.

Cho had adjusted her spin accordingly, and they were off. Words melted away as they read and re-read each other's intentions, with Harry attempting to advance and Cho neatly avoiding all his attacks; all of it in slow motion, allowing Harry to take in the movements. They probably looked absurd, especially since she wore her duelling robes while he had removed his black robe to conduct this mock duel in the standard shirt and tie of his uniform, but Harry was too focused to notice. He'd been wrong in what he said to Hermione - it was less like a riddle and more like a puzzle, and he could practically feel the pieces clicking into place.

He had watched Cho Chang as she shifted and spiralled to slink behind his back, disappearing from view and frustratingly matching all his movements, keeping her back pressed to his. He had watched her switch direction constantly, wherever she met resistance. He watched her bare feet on the rocky ground as she spun, almost soundless, just barely disturbing the dust into light puffs.

In theory he was leading the battle and she was following, reacting to his attacks, but in practice he saw that she was not _only_ avoiding. In some strange subtle way she was both following the flow of the battle and changing it at the same time, as became apparent when now suddenly her fist was coming towards him and he realized that there was nothing he could do. He braced for impact, but instead of finishing her attack she gently flicked his nose with her finger.

"You're not doing very well," she said, straightening up and looking a bit smug. "If you're trying to figure out how to beat an airbender, I should tell you that it's very nearly impossible."

"I think," Harry said, looking down at his own bare feet, feeling the coarse rocky ground underneath as he shifted into an airbending stance, "that you might be right."

"Have you realized the superior ways of airbending and decided to convert?"

"Something like that."

"Sorry to inform you, but it's sort of impossible."

"Oh well. Do you think we could reverse - you attack me?"

The sun was still bright above their heads, quickening the fire and blood to flow free and fast inside Harry, and he was _dying_ to try this out. But Cho was not looking at him - she was squinting over his shoulder.

"Hey, Harry!"

Harry turned around.

"What _are_ you two doing?"

Harry looked down at his feet. They had already taken a step back.

"We were just -" Harry heard Cho Chang's voice from somewhere behind him.

"Ah, Miss Chang, isn't it? That was some pretty impressive duelling you displayed today - good show, I must say!"

Sluggishly, his head swimming with the movement, Harry turned and looked at Cho Chang, who was blushing and looking at the ground.

"Thank you, sir..."

A companionable arm was draped over Harry's shoulder, and he stiffened, looking up at Barty Crouch. The Captain's short brown hair fluttered in the wind, his smile as dazzling and charming and crooked as always.

"I hope you're not a slow learner, Harry - although maybe with a teacher like her I can understand you wanting to take your time..." Crouch laughed. He had a charming and infectious laugh, of course. "When are we going to find time for _our_ little lesson, by the way? How to deal with waterbenders, and all that?"

Harry was a radio tuned only to static. He did not hear it - he felt it, reverberating through him. It was starting to make him nauseous, as if he was sinking, and then...

The world tilted.

Harry blinked - the channel on his inner radio shifted - and in that moment Crouch turned from some demonic creature into a man. Looking up at him, at such close range, Harry saw a mark on Crouch's face where he must have cut himself while shaving that morning.

_I'm not afraid of you._

"How about right now?"

"Right now?"

"Yes." Harry said, stepping out of Crouch's grasp and placing himself between Cho and the Captain. "Say there was a highly annoying waterbender, who just wouldn't leave me alone. Right here and now. What should I do?"

"Well," Crouch said gamely, taking a few steps back and clicking a capsule on the back of his uniform, withdrawing a stream of water as he entered a duelling stance that Harry recognized well. "You might -"

"How about something like this?" Harry asked, and a second later there was steam everywhere.

Crouch had very quickly pulled out enough water to shield himself from the ball of fire - a ball larger than Harry himself - but that was fine, because the look on Crouch's face was priceless, and Harry had what he wanted. His attention.

Harry thought that he understood now why Moody had blocked his chi. It took away the distraction and allowed him to search out who he was underneath the fire. Because now the power fed into him rather than taking over. The fire was his ally, not his enemy, and now that he had refined them - adjusted them - found them - his instincts did not betray him either, just as he did not betray them by trying to run away.

Harry pounced, speeding towards Crouch, who only let his surprise distract him for the shortest moment before backing away and drawing more water to send flying towards Harry, freezing it into sharp icicles in the air, meaning to bar the way rather than to cause actual harm. It was meant to make Harry stop his assault; to dissuade him from trying to force them into hand to hand combat, probably in order to give Crouch a second to think, or to be pedagogic and condescending...

Harry did not stop his assault.

_Air._

He was spinning; spiralling and twisting through the air, around and between the ice as they passed each other going in opposite directions - the ice speeding away to where it could do no harm, Harry speeding towards Crouch, where he _could_. Crouch's body was flowing into a defensive stance, getting ready to receive Harry's attack. Harry had intended to go into hand to hand but - _shit_ - his glasses had flown off! He had no space for precision. This was the point where Ackerly had failed; where the ways of airbending did not resonate with who Harry was, and so this was the point where Harry switched.

_Fire._

When Harry had attacked Hermione he had seen his hands move of their own accord, flames pouring out - even though he had not summoned them - to do unimaginable things that he had not asked for. It had been the same with Malfoy. But now it was _he_ who moved the hand and he who called upon the fire - and if it responded with enthusiasm then, well, he could hardly blame it. Crouch's new shield, a wall crafted from a large amount of water hastily pulled from a nearby pond, should have been more than enough to block anything a fourth year Hogwarts student could throw at it.

Thud.

That was the sound of Crouch hitting the ground.

Harry walked through the steam, towards the blurry figure on the ground, and just as it groaned and shifted to get up, he lightly placed a foot on its chest. He was not exactly holding Crouch down, because he didn't think that he could, but he did gently nudge Crouch back onto the ground.

"I think I got it," Harry said. "Thank you so much. I won't be needing any more lessons." He looked down at the man on the ground. He could just make out that the man's hair was slightly singed, because he had not bothered to wear his helmet. Harry leaned down closer and could see that Crouch still wore only surprise on his features - not the furious rage or ice cold calculation that Harry had expected to see on Crouch's face when he'd imagined this happening, which he had done many times.

"Oh, and stop calling me 'Harry'. We are not friends."

Turning his back on Crouch was one of the hardest things he'd ever done. But even if Crouch was not playing along with how this scene had played out in Harry's imagination, Harry wasn't about to abandon the script so quickly, and turning his back on Crouch was part of the story. It showed that Crouch was not considered a threat.

_Fire and air. Air and fire._

Harry stepped through the steam, which was dissipating now, focusing on the blurry image of Cho just to have something to walk towards. He heard, behind him, the sounds of Crouch getting up and after a terrifying moment of silence he heard the sound of Crouch walking away rather quickly. He stopped a few feet in front of Cho and let out a shaky breath.

"I probably shouldn't have done that." He was amazed at how light and conversational his voice sounded. It had been a bad idea in almost every sense of the world, but it had not felt bad. He had closed some sort of door, but he couldn't bring himself to mind. It was a door that he wanted closed.

"No, you probably shouldn't," Cho agreed, and as far as he could tell her face was distorted into some sort of grimace. "Harry, that was… Um - why am I suddenly glad that I didn't have to beat you up?"

"Took him by surprise," Harry said, mostly to himself. He tried to make his face stop smiling but it would not accommodate him. "That's probably the only reason it worked."

"Hm."

Cho disappeared for a moment and then her hand appeared, holding his glasses close to his face. He plucked them out of the air and put them on, and the world became sharp again. He might be imagining things, but it seemed that everything looked sharper now than before they'd fallen off. The breeze on his face was sharper too, and colours all around him were clearer. Cho Chang looked even prettier than she ever had and he could have written a song about how the rough texture of the ground felt on his bare feet.

He felt good. Fantastic. Better than he could remember feeling ever in his life, in fact. It was like the glorious crackling stretching one's back after sitting hunched over for far, far too long. He was very light headed and should probably be finding somewhere quiet to lie down, but he felt more like bouncing on his feet or running a marathon.

"I wonder if they got that," Cho said, and Harry followed her gaze to the men with the film cameras, who were still bustling about and arguing. "I would like to watch it again, I think."

The stadium was not completely deserted yet, but with mostly empty stands around them it seemed that the affair with Crouch had gone largely unnoticed, which suited Harry just fine. "Do you think they'll show today's duels in Hogsmeade or something?" he asked, gesturing to the men with the cameras. "Watching you on film would certainly be more exciting than those fight scenes in 'Two Avatars'!"

_What did I just say?_

"Never saw it..." Cho said, and Harry felt his grin widen. "And anyway, Hooch said they were going to film a little, but they're just preparing, deciding where to put the cameras, that sort of thing."

"Wait," Harry said, "but why are they here then, if they're not filming the championships?"

"They're here for the tournament, silly."

"Right," Harry said, and then: "Uh. What tournament?"

"Um. Are you joking?" Seeing from his wide blank smile that he was _not_, she looked rather incredulous. "It's all anyone's been talking about! Professor Dumbledore told us all about it on the first day back!"

Harry shrugged. He hadn't been in his right mind on those first days back, and then after that... Well, whatever 'everyone talked about' wasn't really that important when you barely talked to anyone, was it?

"It's the Tournament of Elements!" Cho exclaimed. "It's the biggest thing since... I don't even know!"

"Oh yes?" Harry asked, mostly to be polite.

"It's a competition between us and the Fire Nation and the Water Tribe!"

"Between Durmstrang and Beauxbaton and Hogwarts, you mean?"

Cho waved her hand in impatient agreement. "Yes, yes! How have you _not_ heard about this? It's going to be held right here and the whole world will be watching!"

"I don't..." Harry started. "What, so it's not just duelling; it's like sports and things? Does everyone have to play?"

"Play?" Cho parroted, sounding a bit annoyed. "No, you won't have to _play_. There's only one competitor for every school."

"Oh," Harry said, feeling a bit relieved. "Who's ours?"

Cho rolled her eyes. "It hasn't been decided yet."

The way she said it made Harry ask: "Are _you_ entering?"

"Well," Cho said, blushing slightly, "as a matter of fact, I am. Or trying to, I mean. There's no way I'll get it..."

"Sure you will," Harry said, grinning like an idiot, "and then I'll be rooting for you!"

"Not entering yourself, then?" Cho looked him over speculatively, sizing him up.

"No, I'm more of a cheerleader," Harry said, moving his hands in a little dance, making them spell out 'CHO'.

Cho gave him a stern look. "You should be more excited," she announced. "There's going to be bloody royalty visiting!"

"No, really, I'm very excited," Harry said, but he apparently didn't look excited enough for Cho who made a sound somewhere between exasperation and amusement. "I've never heard you swear before," Harry added thoughtfully.

"Well, that's certainly strange, because you seem to bring it out in me!"

Cho laughed and Harry noted with immense pleasure that he'd made her blush spread.

He threw his gaze over to the men moving the nearest camera back and forth, and got a bit of a shock in that the long tube at the front, at that precise moment, happened to be pointing in his exact direction. For some reason it made him think of his first lesson with Moody, when the old Auror had pointed an enormous weapon at him, and all Harry himself had held in his hands was a small knife that he couldn't even wield properly. He suppressed a shudder and thought instead, with glee, of this week's 'detention', and how he was actually looking forward to it... Unlike this tournament thing - he had obviously lied to Cho when he said that he was "very excited". But still...

_Could be interesting._

* * *

**Author's Note**

**I found parts of that highly satisfying to write. The next chapter will probably be called 'The Goblet of Fire', so suck on that. What do you think will happen? (You must have wondered if there was going to be a tournament, right? It is Harry's fourth year after all.) Either way, we are coming up on a lot of the things I had in mind when I first started writing this, so that feels good.**

**A brief note on the Duelling Championship: in terms of the power levels exhibited by normal Hogwarts students I should say that I consider the main (bending) characters in Avatar: The Last Airbender to be prodigies. Aang, Katara, and especially Toph all demonstrated great power and despite their ages they all managed to master or invent new techniques in practically no time at all. I don't think your average bender would be able to do the things they did, and so the average Hogwarts student is not, because they're simply not as special. Harry, on the other hand, might be.**

**Thank you for reading. Reviews are appreciated.**

**- The Sorting Cat**


	11. The Goblet of Fire

**Author's Note**

**Well! That was the longest wait for a new chapter, so far. The delay was mostly because this chapter is a major turning point and it took some time to get it right. I've decided to let each chapter take the time it takes, so I'm grateful for your continued patience. (Or your expressive lack of patience, as the case may be, since that can also be encouraging.) I might not update on any particular schedule, but you can be assured that I'm not going to stop writing this any time soon.**

**I'd also like to thank those of you who have shared HP:TLA on other parts of the internet - it's really allowed the story to reach a lot of new readers. It's been especially encouraging to hear from people who are not familiar with the Avatar shows but who still enjoy the story.**

**I have no way of replying to guest reviews, but know that your comments are all taken in and churned mercilessly through my brain as I continue to write this. (To the anonymous reviewer who mentioned seeing some sort of movie I would like to point out that I have no idea what you're talking about. What movie? I presume you mean that flick with the blue aliens because there has never been a feature film based on the Avatar series, and _there never will be_. Now, if you'll excuse me I need to go and lie down for a few hours...)**

**I'd like to clarify something, since things are bound to get confusing with both a Duelling _Championship_ and a separate Tournament of Elements, where competitors are referred to as _champions_. So - the Duelling Championship is modelled after the Quidditch games of HP canon, and as such it's spread throughout the year, with four events. It doesn't work like a tournament, exactly - competitors get points for winning duels, and can lose a duel but still be in the running. The two people with the most points (within each league) finally face off in the finals at the end of the year. **

**And a final note on time: about two months have now passed since the start of Harry's fourth year.**

**Okay, I'm going to shut up now. Hope you enjoy the chapter.**

* * *

**Harry Potter: The Last Avatar**

**Book 1: Water**

**Chapter 11: The Goblet of Fire**

"I was once asked - by one of my less gifted children, I'm afraid - how the future can be foreseen when it has not yet been written. 'Surely,' this young person would say, 'we all have many possible paths laid out ahead of us, and we decide for ourselves which ones we shall take, forever obscuring the other paths in the mists of that which can never be.' I am rephrasing her words here, of course; this girl was nowhere near so eloquent..."

Harry Potter was bored out of his skull. Last night's detention had been highly satisfying in that he had finally managed to land Moody on his back, but it was unsatisfying in that Moody had made him pay for this short moment of triumph. And so Harry was wishing, for the sake of his aching back, that he had a proper chair to sit on, rather than this ridiculous _pouffe_ thing.

"The problem, of course, lay within her mind. She had already decided that the future was unwritten and that was her fatal mistake. Because, my dears, the future _is_ written."

Harry's fingertips were tapping a fast rhythm on the circular table that he had all to himself near the back of the class. He wanted to get up and throw open the curtains of the nearest window; to banish the dim and red and _mysterious_ light that they were all forced to sit in. The heat of the tower, which looked more like an overcrowded attic than a classroom, did not bother him as much as it used to, but the stench of perfume was as overwhelming as always.

"Our future is a shadow laid out by the shape of our past, as is our present. Every choice we make, every thought we think, is merely a product of circumstances that are out of our own control. Free will is therefore an illusion - a mere dream - and in fact the path is set, from here and until the very end."

Trelawney let the silence draw out after this dubious pronouncement and Harry's pent up annoyance finally found something to focus on.

"Excuse me, Professor? Could I ask a question?" Without waiting for confirmation Harry lowered his hand and lit a small flame at his index finger. "I'm fairly sure that I make choices and think thoughts. Say, for instance, that I am considering whether or not to set fire to this table." He kept his tone casual and inquisitive, although he couldn't be sure that a manic undertone wasn't creeping into his voice. This lecture had been going on for far too long. "I could do it quite easily! And I haven't decided yet. How is that not free will?"

"Ah," Trelawney said, with a smile that made Harry suspect that she had been waiting for someone to ask a question like this, "but the choice is already written in your blood and in your history, dear child. Everything that has led you to this point - all the little events in your little life - have already made your decision for you."

Harry would have had a difficult time explaining why this idea bothered him so much, but the fact was that what had started as a theoretical question - the destruction of the table - was rapidly becoming a possible reality.

"And can you divine what I am going to do, Professor?" Harry asked, pumping a little more breath into the flame, which was now a handful, dancing above his open palm.

Trelawney's smile did not waver, and she looked him over for a long moment, eyes magnified many times over by her large spectacles. "I see that you will _not_ set fire to the table," she finally proclaimed. "There are rules against that sort of thing, and while the rules themselves are not a hindrance, I see that you have been shaped into someone who does not break rules."

_You could do it. You could burn down this whole classroom if you wanted._

"To be completely certain I would need to do a proper reading - perhaps of your tealeaves," Trelawney continued thoughtfully, "but even if I am wrong - even if you choose the rocky path of facing punishment for your impudence - it would only prove that the conditions that have created your need to be right were greater than the conditions that have created your respect for the rules. Either way, your choice is already made. Does that answer your question?"

The whole class was staring at him, and a sudden self-awareness caused the flame in his hand to diminish and vanish without his express command. He looked at his hand for a moment - it wasn't supposed to do that anymore - before lowering it.

"Yes," Harry said. "Thank you, Professor."

"Thank _you_, Mister Putter," Trelawney said with satisfaction, and turned back to the class. "The illusion of choice is highly convincing, but as was discovered by my very own great grandmother Meng - student of the great seer Aunt Wu - and as has just been demonstrated, we are all caged by a self that is formed by the world around us, and as such we can most often divine the future by looking upon the world as it is, with the Inner Eye, and seeing what shall be from what is already there..."

Harry sat back and brooded in silence. Why had he even raised his hand in the first place? And what had happened to his ability to blend into the background? It seemed to be slipping. He used to be able to fold in on himself and people would trip over him before they noticed that he was there. Nowadays people looked up when he entered a room. He didn't like it.

After a while Trelawney finally finished her lecture and told them all to work on their dream diaries for the rest of the lesson. Harry watched the rest of the class as they pulled out identical small purple notebooks and started scribbling, talking and giggling. Harry had not attended this class in over a month, and Harry did not have a little purple book. It seemed like it would only be detrimental to call attention to this fact, so he sat back and practiced being inconspicuous.

The classroom was much larger than was needed - their class was a small assortment of fourth year students who either had some fascination with the mystical or who simply couldn't be bothered to take a real class. The only Gryffindors were Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown, who belonged to the first group, and Harry Potter, who belonged to the second. It had disappointed his mother, but after second year he'd been looking for any class that would get him out of doing more Chemistry with Professor Snape, the school's Waterbending Master who doubled as a Professor of Chemistry and who was, incidentally, a vile and vindictive man who made any type of learning impossible.

Last year Harry had been more or less content to sit at the back of Trelawney's class, ignoring the Professor and catching up on some reading. _This year_ he'd skipped more lessons than he'd attended, and now that he was present he wasn't sure that he'd make it through the lesson, let alone a year of lessons, without going loopy. Perhaps he was especially on edge because he had not exactly _chosen_ to come to class today. He had been _forced_. Not by McGonagall nor Trelawney, neither of whom seemed to have noticed his absences, but by a strange female Auror.

It was when he'd been leaving breakfast, intending to watch the seventh years do Duelling, that he'd been waylaid by a "Wotcher! Harry Potter!" and a young-looking Auror had, with a none-too-subtle grin, pointed out that he might be late for Spirits Class if he went outside right now, and had he forgotten the way to North Tower and, yes, she'd be only too happy to help - it wasn't so long since she'd been walking these very halls as a student, she would have him know.

Harry no longer feared Barty Crouch, and so he wasn't about to be scared by a single Auror, but he did find the woman slightly unsettling. On the way to the tower she kept commenting on how things used to be done at Hogwarts in "the good old days", meaning five years ago, and she put on various voices, imitating teachers with startling precision. Harry might have appreciated the efforts if she was not an Auror, and if she didn't insist on acting with a sense of familiarity that she certainly hadn't earned.

Harry had expected some sort of retribution for his move against Crouch, but he had not expected this. He was rather annoyed with himself for blushing when she blew him a kiss and left him at the door of the classroom. A lock of hair had escaped the woman's helmet as she walked off, and Harry wasn't entirely sure, but he thought that it had been... pink?

_Weird._

Harry was broken from his reverie by the sound of humming. It came from behind him - except there was no one sitting behind him. He glanced at Trelawney, who was moving about the class with the jangle and bangle of her many necklaces, but who didn't seem likely to come anywhere near Harry. And that humming sounded familiar...

He got up and abandoned his table, wading through various knick knack and assorted junk as he made his way deeper into the classroom, the sounds of the other students becoming muffled and faint. Passing an umbrella sticking out of a tall flower pot and a large bookshelf overflowing with broken crockery, he found a tight spot that was completely hidden from the outside world, and another one of the small circular tables.

There was a blonde skeleton sitting at the table. That was his first thought.

"Luna?"

Her mane of dirty blonde hair, looking far more scraggly and unkempt than it had, fell like a curtain, obscuring her face as she stared down into a teacup clutched in her hands.

"Harry."

She did not move or look up, and it was more an echo of his word than an actual greeting.

Had she been this white last time? The light was tinted with red from Trelawney's many paper lanterns, but throwing a glance down at his own forearm, Harry could see that he was practically tanned by comparison. He sidled along the bookshelf and sat on a pouffe next to the chintz armchair Luna was seated on. With two people at the table, the space became quite crowded, but they were at least closed off from the rest of the class. Luna didn't seem to notice or mind; she just stared into her teacup.

"See anything?"

"Lumps."

Harry tapped his fingers on the top of the table. Reaching out, he took the teacup out of her unresisting hands and placed it on the table. She raised her head a little and he could see her face, but she didn't meet his eye; instead she simply stared off into space. She looked tired.

"How long have you been here, Luna?" This was a fourth year class, after all, and she was undoubtedly supposed to be in some very different classroom.

The question made her smile, for some reason. It was not a large smile but her face had been so blank and expressionless that it stuck out like a sore thumb. She didn't answer. Harry noted that while she wore the white uniform shirt and grey skirt, her neck noticeably lacked the blue-and-bronze tie that signified her as a Ravenclaw.

"You're going to lose points," Harry pointed out.

"Are you pretending again?" She didn't elaborate.

"Hm," Harrry said. "I talked to Cho Chang. She thought..."

"Whatever she thought," Luna said, speaking quite quickly, "I'm sure she was wrong. Everyone is always wrong and stupid, have you noticed?"

Harry raised his eyebrows. It was true that he didn't technically know Luna very well, but he couldn't have imagined her speaking ill of anyone. On the other hand, she wasn't speaking with much emotion. None at all, in fact.

"She was worried about you," Harry said, trying not to sound reproachful.

"That's very nice of her. Professor Flitwick will have told her to worry then. I like Professor Flitwick. He likes to pretend that he understands, but deep down he knows that he does not. So he's less stupid than the rest of them."

"Understand what?"

"This!" Luna moved suddenly - she squeezed her cheeks with both hands, then her small breasts, then finally she crossed her arms tight over her middle and pinched the thin flesh of her forearms.

After a moment of stunned silence Harry stopped her by putting his hands over hers, because even if her face showed nothing she was still pinching much too hard, leaving her pale arms bloomed with pink. Her skin was cool, and she shivered at his touch.

"You've gotten hotter," Luna said.

"Thanks," Harry said, "I'm taking that as a complement. Now..." He carefully uncrossed her arms and held each of her hands in one of his. "Why haven't you been going to class?"

"It's mostly your fault," Luna said conversationally, and Harry felt his heart sinking, "or at least that's what I entertained myself by thinking."

"Could you explain what you mean?"

"Ginny."

Harry blinked. He let go of her hands and leaned back slightly. "I don't -"

"I wasn't going to let you slip away," Luna said, her fingers trailing along the rim of her teacup, as if it were made of crystal and would sing for them. "I knew you wouldn't come back on your own, so I was going to find you. But then there's this whole thing with loyalty, and it didn't seem like the thing to do."

"After I talked to Ginny?" Harry filled in, trying fit the pieces together. Last time he'd talked to Luna they'd both been speaking in riddles, but it had all made sense to him. They'd been in sync. Now they were going in opposite directions and he couldn't work his mind into the right gear.

"'Talked'," Luna parroted, and she made a sniffing sound that was something like a laugh. "Yes. But loyalty goes both ways, and she was saying a lot of things about you... So I said some things too, and then Ginny didn't sit with me anymore."

"I'm sorry," Harry said, and though he couldn't quite see the whole picture he thought he saw some of it now. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

"No," Luna agreed. "You meant to hurt Ginny."

"No," Harry said, "I was just - she kept…"

"It's okay, Harry, I'm not angry. But it was difficult to keep my balance without her."

"Yes," Harry said, looking her over once again. She was very haphazardly put together and there was a certain unwashed odour that could only just be made out over the overpower stink of the classroom.

"You don't understand," Luna said, and it was as if she was speaking to herself rather than to him. "She was an anchor and..."

"No, I get it," Harry said, and he thought that he did. "She's your Hermione."

"Well, no," Luna said. "I'm not in love with her."

Harry let that pass because Luna was staring blankly into space again. It was as if they'd reversed positions from their last meeting, except that Harry didn't have any answers.

"I want to help you," he said, because he was at least sure of that much.

"That's funny." She turned to him and there was something strange and vicious in her eye. "You're the one who needs my help, after all. Burning a little bright, aren't we?"

"'I've dealt with that."

"And how are you sleeping?"

"Like a baby."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Don't you want to know about the pomegranates?"

Harry hesitated. "The pomegranates aren't important," he said evenly. "Eating, sleeping, and maybe going to class - those things are important."

Luna launched herself towards him and his back hit the bookshelf with a rattle of teacups as he almost toppled off his pouffe. She was managing to loom over him, somehow, and the confined space suddenly felt very confined.

"Don't you want to know," Luna asked, pushing a sharp finger into his ribcage, "what _this is_?"

His throat constricted and he wanted to push her away, but he was distracted as a whisper of something ran through his mind. It was like a cold shadow spreading through him from the point where her finger was piercing him. He wanted to believe that she was causing it, somehow, but he didn't - it was all him. And for a second, as he met her gaze, he almost grasped it. If he made the effort; if he embraced the shadow swelling inside him, then he would understand. But the shadow was cold and dark and he could feel the crippling grief rising up, and so he did not make the effort. He let it go, and a second later the feeling had disappeared, sunk away into the depths, and Luna's words were nothing but nonsense.

"I'm doing fine," Harry said, meeting her gaze evenly. "It's you I'm worried about."

"Fine," Luna echoed. "Harry Potter is always doing _fine_."

"I _am_," Harry said.

He was! Everything was sorting itself out; he'd found a balance, he could sleep and eat, and he'd fought off the monsters. He was quite keen on the idea of doing nothing strange or extraordinary ever again.

"You can't build a house on rotten ground," Luna said.

"My ground's just fine."

Luna shifted her hand so it was laying flat against his chest rather than poking at it, and a terrible expression spread across her face. A smirk. On her porcelain features it looked very wrong.

"I see you, Harry Potter."

Luna removed her hand and stood up, shifting away from the table. "You can pretend if you like," she said, looking speculatively at the umbrella in the flower pot before pulling it out and swinging it like a cane, "but you'll come around."

"I'm still worried about you," Harry said.

"That's very nice of you."

Harry thought that perhaps her voice was a little less flat than it had been, and as she walked away behind the bookshelf she started singing to herself. He took it as a good sign until he made out the actual words.

"_Tick, tock, Harry - can't you hear the clock? We're all gonna burn - when Potter goes pop!_"

Leaning on his pouffe and twisting to look around the bookshelf he saw Luna open the curtains of the nearest window, sending in a flash of pure sunlight that cut through the dank redness of the classroom. It was followed by a sudden glorious flush of fresh air as Luna opened the window and promptly stepped out of it.

Harry shot to his feet, clattering against the table and upending Luna's teacup, and rushed to the window where he was blinded by the daylight. Blinking and gulping in the cold air he could not spot Luna immediately, because he was looking in the wrong direction. She was not splattered against the cobblestones far below, or even airbending her way slowly towards the ground - she was above him, sailing gently along in the breeze, long golden hair streaming out behind her as she captured the air in her umbrella and drifted in the general direction of Ravenclaw Tower on the other side of the castle. Harry could make out a few other airbenders sailing the winds around the taller tower, though they all used the more traditional fan-like gliders.

"That's an awfully cold breeze," Professor Trelawney's said on the other side of the classroom, barely audible over the pounding of air in Harry's ears. "Close that window, would you, Mister Putter?"

Harry turned back, away from the sun and the air, and found that class was still going on. No one seemed to have noticed that Luna had even been there. He thought he might have seen Parvati looking in his direction but when he turned, her attention was back on Lavender.

"Yes, Professor," Harry said, and he closed the window.

* * *

"Help us out, Harry! Fire Nation? Or _Water Tribe_?"

Glancing up to see a half-dressed Seamus Finnigan, his pose frozen with two index fingers pointed right back at him, Harry simply shook his head and went back to digging through his trunk. "No comment," he muttered, when Seamus stubbornly held his pose.

"Agh, come on!" Seamus near-shouted. "Water Tribe is _clearly_ superior! Have you not seen pictures of Korra?"

"Gross," Ron interjected, busy tying his tie with practiced ease.

"I mean _young_ Korra, obviously!" Seamus illustrated this point by cupping his hands like he was holding two watermelons up to his chest.

"Give it up, mate" Ron Weasley laughed, "Harry prefers his girls locally grown."

While annoyed at having words put in his mouth, Harry was at least spared from joining in the discussion, and he continued his search in silence, shifting aside his textbooks for Geography, Mathematics and Literature, but still not having any success.

"And besides," Ron continued, "are you saying that you'd take a Millicent Bulstrode over a Lavender Brown?"

"First off, Weasley," Seamus said indignantly, "that is clearly _not_ what I'm saying! Second off - Bulstrode's a mutt! She's a waterbender, all right, but she's not Water Tribe. She's Republic scum just like the rest of us! Now, the closest thing we've seen to a _proper_ Water Tribe girl is Daphne Greengrass. And _yes_," he said pointedly to Ron, who was watching Seamus parade back and forth through the mirror, "I'll take a Greengrass over a Brown, thank you very much."

"What about a Bell?" Ron said, smirking to himself as he straightened his tie.

Harry gave up - it simply _wasn't_ in his trunk. He upended his book-bag on the bed and started rifling through its contents. Seamus, meanwhile, ignored Ron and continued his lecture in the tone of one who was, at great pains to himself, doing all he could to educate the uneducated rabble.

"Yes," Seamus conceded to no one in particular, "they may not yet have felt the civilizing touch of us cultivated gentlemen," he straightened his tie haughtily, apparently not minding that he wasn't currently wearing any trousers, "and they may dress as savages in their pelts and furs and so on - but you know that I don't care for such superficial things! It's what's _underneath_ that matters." Just in case his meaning was not plain enough, Seamus repeated his melon-related hand gesture, and Ron laughed.

"You, sir," Ron said, doing a final once-over in the mirror and running a hand through his hair, "are a traitor to your own element, and we shall have to tie you up and toss you from the Astronomy Tower, as is our custom."

"Dean!" Seamus shouted, finally pulling on his trousers, and throwing his empty-looking book-bag over his shoulder. "Back me up, mate!"

Dean Thomas was lying on his bed, neatly dressed for the day, his face buried in his copy of 'Burning Patterns', and Harry stopped his fruitless search to eye the book hungrily. Neville, blushing profusely, had excused himself from the conversation and escaped down the spiral staircase fifteen minutes ago, and Harry would have done the same if he could only have found his damn book. They had a theoretical firebending exam in the afternoon and Harry, who hadn't even known about the test, needed to look some things up during breakfast - and possibly during every class of the morning, and lunch, and right up until McGonagall snatched the book from his hands.

"By your Greengrass logic," Dean said, without looking up from his book, "the Patil twins are Fire Nation. End of discussion." He snapped the book shut smartly and picked the silver pocket-watch off his night stand, glancing at it before closing it with a click and heading for the door.

"Now, don't think I'm slagging off the Patils, _but_ -" Seamus's voice trailed off as he pursued Dean down the stairs, leaving Harry alone in the dorm with Ron.

"Let's hope," Ron said, hanging about by the door, "that he has the sense to stop his rant _before_ he enters the common room and encounters the fairer sex, eh?"

"Where's my bloody book?" Harry asked in exasperation.

"Oh," Ron said, "is _that_ what you're looking for? Why didn't you say something?" He then pulled out _Harry's_ copy of 'Burning Patterns' from inside the book-bag slung over his own shoulder.

Harry stared at him, incredulous. Ron just grinned back.

"I borrowed it," Ron said, as if 'asking permission' was obviously above such close friends as them.

* * *

It was as if Cho Chang had broken a spell - now that Harry knew of it, he heard talk of the Tournament of Elements everywhere. The endless speculation in the dorm, comparing the benefits of Durmstrang girls as opposed to Beauxbatons girls, was only a small part of the mounting excitement that reverberated through the halls of Hogwarts.

Everyone was eager to show their best side, and as the days grew colder and shorter it became common to spot the normally invisible Hogwarts servants polishing _this_ suit of armour or giving _that_ painting a particularly vicious dusting, all under the dubious jurisdiction of Mister Filch. The old caretaker had somehow acquired a new outfit that looked like half a suit and half a military uniform put together, and it actually might have made an impressive impression if it wasn't for the unfortunate boils that riddled the man's face.

The Aurors made their presence more obvious, marching this way and that in the hallways, and they apparently no longer had time to keep tabs on Harry. So the only consequence of his scuffle with Crouch was 'being escorted to North Tower that one time', which was pretty mild, as retaliations went. More importantly, as Crouch could also be seen more often, Harry found that he felt nothing all as he watched the Captain strut along the hallways with his men.

And then he started feeling incredibly silly.

He had dreamt of a man coming to drown him, and he'd let that fear follow him into the waking world to a paralysing degree. But his dreams didn't mean anything - why should they? They were just dreams; subconscious bubblings and churning. Captain Crouch didn't even look completely like the man in Harry's nightmare. Sure, they had similar smiles, but Crouch was much older. Remembering how he hadn't slept and barely eaten the first few days of the school year seemed ridiculous to Harry now.

After he had compartmentalized and suppressed this very embarrassing piece of his past, Harry started feeling - and it took him a while to recognize this unfamiliar sensation - _good_. It was as if a weight had been lifted off him, and classes that had been boring were once again engaging. The inane conversations in his dorm started to amuse him rather than annoy him, though he wasn't so far altered that he felt any inclination to join in.

His next detention with Moody was on the day before the arrival of the other schools, and it was another surprisingly good experience. He was still shifting between and blending the forms of fire and air, and the style he'd found fit him like a glove. He'd originally hoped to take Moody by surprise with this breakthrough, but it almost seemed as if the Professor had been waiting for something like this to happen. Harry still couldn't beat the old Auror, but he managed to avoid and deflect and trip the man up now and again, and it was considerably closer to a fair fight. At the end of the night, Moody seemed just as exhausted as Harry felt, and he grumbled something about "moving on soon", though he didn't explain what he meant, as he never did.

* * *

Harry was trapped. The air was chilly but he was sweating in his robes from the heat of the crowd. It wouldn't have been so bad if he could only see over the heads of the crowd, but instead he was being jostled this way and that with no idea of where he was supposed to be going.

This could easily have been averted, Harry thought glumly. If they hadn't ended all the classes early and at the exact same time then there wouldn't have been such a great big flood of students rushing down through the castle and congesting in the Entrance Hall before spilling out onto the grounds in a disorganized mass. After Doctor Teo put away his pickled brains and dismissed the class, Harry had tried to stay close to Hermione, but they'd been picked up by the stream and shifted apart, and so Harry stood alone, though he was surrounded by people.

He narrowly avoided being inappropriately mashed up against a fifth year Sytherin girl, and was instead bounced against the back of a massive Hufflepuff. Over the noise of the crowd Harry could hear the Heads of House attempting to organize the students, but they were not doing a very good job, and Harry's hands were aching to do something.

_It would really be quite easy to clear a space in a very definite manner..._

"You alright, mate?" Harry opened his eyes. It was the massive Hufflepuff whose back Harry had been slammed against by the crowd. "Get separated from your friends?" Harry nodded. "Me too." The boy seemed more amused than bothered by the situation.

"Shouldn't you be trying to sort it out?" Harry asked, nodding to the prefect's badge pinned onto the boy's uniform.

"Oh," the prefect said with a shrug and a grin, "it'll sort itself out."

This was easy for him to say. The crowd moved and swirled around him while he stood there, steady as a rock, unlike Harry who was already in danger of being swept away again.

"Sure you're alright?" the prefect asked. "Because you look like you're about to pop."

Usually, Harry would only have felt insulted at these words, but there was something strangely soothing about the older boy's presence, and Harry could not imagine that any offence had been intended.

"I don't like crowds," Harry admitted, "and I can't see what's happening."

"Ah." The prefect raised a finger knowingly and then his gaze lost focus and he scrunched up his nose before sneezing extravagantly, using the action to cover up what he was doing.

The ground underneath Harry shot up and all of a sudden Harry stood equally tall, if not taller, than the people around him. Looking down he saw that a block of earth had shot up, like a small and impossibly rectangular hill. No one seemed to have noticed, apart from the two of them.

Harry wanted to be offended but found it very difficult - in a way he was being made to stand on a box, like a child, but on the other hand he could now breathe properly. Moreover, bending the earth of the school grounds was not allowed outside of the greenhouses and the Duelling Grounds, but the older boy had done it anyway, despite the fact that he was a prefect.

"Cheers," Harry mumbled.

"You go running with us, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Well, it's all right to talk to us once in a while, you know? We don't bite."

"I just like to run," Harry said, and shrugged. He was looking over at the cluster of reporters and camera men - with both regular and motion picture cameras - that he could now make out over the heads of the crowd. There were women in garish suits, whose piercing laughter echoed across the grounds, even overpowering the excited rumble of hundreds and hundreds of teenagers, and there was the occasional flash of a camera, but mostly the group seemed collectively occupied with standing around and smoking cigarettes.

"Fair enough," the prefect said, and they descended into a silence that should have been awkward, but again the boy had a casual calm air about him, and they stood side by side, waiting for the crowd to sort itself out.

Harry had recognized the prefect as soon as he turned around, of course - the boy had _started_ the group of early morning runners, the way Harry had heard it, and he had quite a few sketches of the older boy in his notebook. Because just as Cho Chang personified all that an airbender should be, so did Cedric Diggory, in Harry's opinion at least, bring earthbending to its fullest potential.

* * *

Harry had seen hundreds of airships in his life - it was a simple consequence of living in Republic City, where the blasted things were as common as clouds - but he'd never seen anything quite like the Katara. It was as much a work of art as it was a vessel; elegant, with simple flowing lines along the long blue balloon that kept the ship afloat. Like its namesake, an old war hero that Professor Binns had familiarized them with in their first year (doing an admirable attempt to strip away the fiction and finding the facts hidden in the stories that they'd all heard while growing up), it looked both beautiful and deadly.

_A ship like that could take a small city all on its own, if crewed with the right people..._

Maybe it was because he'd never seen an airship above the grounds of Hogwarts, but Harry thought that it looked infinitely more majestic than the Auror airships and commercial blimps that he was used to seeing shift in and out of the fumes of Republic City like an oppressive extension of the fog. Either way it was an impressive sight, and for the first time Harry felt the swelling excitement that had overtaken his classmates weeks ago. The students around him seemed to agree.

"Are they visiting or _invading_?"

"Hot Southern Bombshells incoming in ten, nine, eight..."

"Cor! Will you look at that, brother? Oh, I wish she'd let me have my camera..."

Colin Creevey was whispering to his younger brother, who stood in the first row of Gryffindors just ahead of them. Harry, to his consternation, stood right next to Colin because, for some reason, the students had been arranged according to House and _height_ rather than House and year. So Harry found himself in the second row of Gryffindors, with only first years ahead of him and his fourth year classmates somewhere far behind.

_Well, at least you can see... _

He did have an excellent view of the Katara's descent towards a large mark painted on the ground between the new arena and Professor Hagrid's hut. As the ship came closer to the ground a dozen crewmen released ropes and slid down them in perfect unison, touching down on the ground and beginning the work of guiding the airship down. When it had come to a perfect landing they then anchored the ship to poles that they hammered into the ground.

Finally, the last guiding motor on the ship settled and there was a moment of stillness where nothing could be heard but the click-click-click of film cameras. Then a doorway slid open and a gilded staircase extended to the ground. A regal figure clad all in blue appeared and made its way down the stairs. When it reached the grass Harry could make out that it was a handsome olive-skinned woman, whose sleek black hair was braided into loops. Even at a distance her presence demanded attention, so much so that Harry didn't at first notice the line blue-clad students that followed her down the staircase, and when he did -

_Did they send children?_

For all the world it looked like the company consisted of one fully grown adult with a line of small children trailing behind, not unlike a mother duck in Republic City Park, swimming across a pond with its young ones trailing behind. Then Harry's perspective shifted, and he understood what he was seeing. The Beauxbatons students were not little - they all looked to be about sixteen or seventeen - it was the woman leading the party that was enormous. Not fat; her otherwise regular proportions had simply been scaled up as large as humanly possible, putting her close to Professor Hagrid's height.

The large woman and her two dozen students were flanked by several serious-looking crewmen as they approached the castle and the assembled school. Harry thought he caught one of these crewmen throwing an apprehensive glance towards the Aurors, who were lined up and looking resplendent.

Cameras flashed and flashed as the woman, who was called Maxime, as far as Harry gathered from the whispers around him, greeted first Dumbledore and then two men in suits who Harry presumed had something to do with arranging the tournament. Dumbledore gestured towards the school and said something that Harry couldn't catch.

"No," Maxime's deep voice answered, and at a look from their Headmistress her students assembled into a line facing the lake. "We will be ready when the Fire Nation comes." She then laughed, and Dumbledore joined in, though no one else seemed to find it amusing.

Then there was silence again, apart from the many whispers, and Harry entertained himself by observing the Beauxbatons students, as did most of the school. They all wore similar clothing - light robes in tones of blue and purple - but didn't seem to have a uniform as such. In Diagon, Harry had sometimes seen people dress or do their hair in 'Water Tribe Style', but even though it had looked quite similar to what he was seeing now, it had still been done as a novelty or a fashion statement. Here, on the other hand, it felt as if every nuance of their dress - the simple necklaces, the markings on their robes, the decorative bands tied into many of the girls' hair - carried a significance that no outsider could hope to fully comprehend.

A cold gust of wind ran over the grounds, making many of the Hogwarts students shudder while the Beauxbatons students all seemed unfazed. Harry wondered if all of them were from the Southern Water Tribe or if some northerners had traversed the entire world to attend Beauxbatons with their sister tribe, despite the fact that Hogwarts, located in the north of what was technically the Earth Kingdom, would have been much closer to the Northern Water Tribe. Either way, they all seemed more accustomed to the cold than the 'Republic Scum' of Hogwarts, as Seamus would have said. He noted that while most of them had very dark brown or black hair there were a few exceptions, most notably a girl who let her silvery blonde hair fly free in the wind, forgoing the braids and loops of her compatriots.

There was a rumbling sound, starting out faint but growing louder and louder, and everyone turned towards the lake. It was getting late and dark, and for a while Harry couldn't make out anything at all, but then three huge gouts of flame shot into the air on the opposite side of the lake, making everyone jump and signalling the arrival of the Durmstrang ship. It was still on the other side of the lake, having come up the river that led all the way down to the ocean, but it seemed to have stopped moving.

McGonagall snapped an order at her seventh years, who had been placed separately from the other Gryffindors, and together with them she shot three equally huge spurts of fire into the air, making the cold evening suddenly sweltering and blinding them all. The cameras clicked wildly as the Durmstrang ship began moving again and then finally pulled up to the shore.

It was a great big black thing, made all in metal, and it had none of the charm of the Water Tribe airship. While the Katara looked both deadly and beautiful this ship only looked deadly. This impression was completed when a gangplank was lowered and armoured men wearing three-spiked helmets marched down it. Harry's first mad thought was that they shouldn't have been worrying about the Katara - here was the true invasion! His second thought was to wonder if this was the Durmstrang school uniform and to - if it was - be grateful that he hadn't been sent there...

But after the armoured men came boys and girls dressed in blood red robes with the seal of the fire nation displayed prominently on the front. The armoured men followed close behind as these students were led by Headmaster Karkaroff, a tall wiry man with a goatee, up to where the school stood assembled.

The way that the Durmstrang students moved towards them, marching like soldiers, made a few of the first and second years around Harry try to take a step back. Harry, meanwhile, leaned forward, trying to get a better look. They all had dark hair tied up in top-knots and, following Karkaroff's lead, they seemed to be heading towards the Beauxbatons group first. Harry thought he could actually see the crewmen from the Katara tensing up. It was ancient history, of course, but Beauxbatons had once been invaded and destroyed by firebenders from Durmstrang, and for a moment it seemed that instead of a friendly competition, a war could very well be started right then and there.

But Karkaroff and Maxime greeted each other very warmly and even more cameras flashed as they smiled and laughed together. Harry could not hear them, but he watched their bodies and their movements and he wondered if it was as obvious to everyone else that it was to him.

_They hate each other._

Karkaroff went on to greet Dumbledore and the tournament officials, and Harry focused instead on his students. He noted that one of the boys was flanked by two middle-aged men dressed all in black, sporting impressive sideburns and impassive expressions. The way they moved screamed of efficiency and Harry had a sudden urge to see how they fought. The boy himself had adorned his top-knot with a three-pronged flame-shaped headpiece, and while watching the group as a whole, Harry saw that the students all circulated around him. It wasn't too obvious, but when the others moved, they did so in relation to this one student. Others were talking to him, trying to get his attention, but the boy himself was busy taking in Hogwarts castle and looking entirely unimpressed.

"It's him!" squeaked Colin Creevey. "It's really him!" And, in a lamenting tone, as if he was reading the caption of the photo that he would have taken right now if he had his camera: "Prince Viktor, the son of the Fire Lord!"

* * *

"I'm sorry," Hermione leaned over to whisper in his ear, "am I going deaf or did he just say that the champions will be selected by an old wooden cup?"

"Well, to be fair," Harry whispered back, looking up at the old wooden cup in question, "it _does_ have fire coming out of it."

"Yes," Hermione agreed dryly, "that makes it much more suitable."

"You have to admit - it's got to be impartial!"

"Fire generally is..." Hermione muttered, eyes still glued to the goblet.

The whispers running up and down the hall at the unveiling of the goblet were overpowered by Dumbledore, who went on to tell them about the regulations of the tournament, saying that that the goblet would be placed in the Entrance Hall and that any student was free to place their name into it up until the feast tomorrow night, when the three competitors would be selected.

Harry's eyes roamed away from the cup and across the two new tables, set just in front of the staff table so that the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students faced the hall. Harry couldn't decide if they were being put on display or set above the Hogwarts students with this placement. His eyes continued their journey up to the staff table where the visiting Headmistress and Headmaster had been placed at either side of Dumbledore's seat.

Harry tried to keep his gaze on Dumbledore, who was standing and speaking of honour and glory and such, but he found himself tuning all of it out, and his gaze shifted away again and landed on the two tournament officials from the Republic. They had turned out to be the Minister of Culture, Ludo Bagman, and the newly appointed Minister of International Co-operation. Harry knew that the man was newly appointed because up until recently he had been Minister of Justice - the Chief of all Aurors and the boss whose opinions James Potter wouldn't stop parroting.

_Barty Crouch... Senior._

Harry looked down at his plate, spotted with remains of the feast. The servants really had outdone themselves, preparing a variety of exotic dishes along with the usual things. Hermione had attempted to have some of everything she hadn't tasted before, and Harry had also made an effort to branch out, though he stuck to things that actually looked edible. In the City Harry quite often ate grilled meat from Fire Nation joints, but the similar looking dishes he'd had tonight had tasted quite different. Presumably they were prepared in a more genuinely Fire Nation style...

He tried to keep looking at his plate; he really did. But again his gaze drifted up to the staff table and to Barty Crouch Senior. Apart from looking slightly imposing, the gentleman with the old fashioned suit and toothbrush moustache did not stand out at all.

_So why can't you stop looking at him?_

* * *

"But how does it _work_?"

"That," Harry said, pushing his glasses up and trying to knead the sleep from his eyes, "is the fifth time you asked me that."

"Why is it blue?" Hermione was speaking through a mouthful of toast, forgetting her manners as she stared at the flames of the goblet. "_How_ is it blue?"

"I still don't know," Harry said in exasperation. "I haven't reached enlightenment and become omniscient since you asked me the same question thirty seconds ago."

"Well, you're not giving me any input!"

"It's too early for input. I need a lot more coffee if you're expecting input."

Hermione walked off to observe the thing from another angle, yet again, and Harry sighed. Yes, it was a strange artefact, and it was even stranger that it had been selected for such an important task, but they'd been staring at it for half an hour. The novelty had worn off.

More and more people were coming down the stairs and nipping into the Great Hall to grab something edible before coming back out and staring at the Goblet of Inexplicable Blue Fire. Harry gulped down the dregs at the bottom of his mug and threw a glance to make sure that Hermione was sufficiently distracted before moving to desert her in favour of the comforts and coffee of the Great Hall. Before he'd taken two steps he spotted a third year Gryffindor boy approaching the cup, and he stopped to watch along with the whole Entrance Hall as the boy reached up high with a slip of paper that disappeared into the flaming mouth of the goblet. He reunited with his friends amidst much back-slapping and camera flashes from Creevey.

"It's clearly very old," Hermione said, reappearing at his side and making him jump, "and it makes me think of the Sorting Hat. But as far as I can tell, the Sorting Hat just provokes a physical reaction, while this thing is supposed to be able to _make choices_... What's its decision making process? It's a cup!"

"Yes," Harry agreed, "it's a cup."

"Maybe it's all a trick!" Hermione threw her hands into the air, making a show of giving up. "Maybe whoever bribes Dumbledore with the most candy will 'magically' find their name getting pulled out!"

"Yeah, or whoever bribes those men from the government with the most cash..."

He managed to tug her into the Great Hall and to the Gryffindor table where they spent breakfast debating who might represent Hogwarts, mysterious artefacts and bribery notwithstanding. The other schools had only brought older students, but Harry had an inkling that the Hogwarts champion would not be a seventh year. Though the average level of skill and power was generally higher among the upperclassmen there were still people who were far above that average level in younger years. Cho Chang was a fifth year, for example, and Harry thought that she had a fair chance, even though he didn't feel particularly inclined to mention her by name.

Harry informed Hermione that Ron Weasley and Seamus Finnigan had, of course, talked of putting their names in, and they entertained themselves for several minutes with the notion of Weasley going up against Viktor Krum.

"Wait," Hermione then said, "are we just assuming Krum will get selected? Just because he happens to be the son of someone important doesn't mean he's the most suitable competitor."

"I've heard it whispered that he's a great duellist."

"He's a prince," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "So if you listen to whispers you'll start believing that he lights the stars and moves the moon across the sky. And who's whispering in your ear, anyway?"

"I have my sources."

Hermione gave him a look that said 'we both know you have no sources' but left it at that. It had been Parvati who'd told him of Krum's supposed duelling expertise, actually. But since Hermione had sprinkled the morning with disparaging comments about how she'd had to endure Lavender and Parvati's late night discussion on the relative "hunkiness" of Durmstrang and Beauxbatons boys (apparently girls and boys weren't as different as some would have us believe, Harry had thought), Harry didn't feel like explaining how he and Parvati were on talking terms nowadays.

"I'm just saying," Hermione murmured through her coffee, "the very best people are often the ones you don't notice..."

But something strange happened as they went to exit the school.

They were going to take a walk across the grounds and get a closer look at the Katara, but when they'd gone through the now packed Entrance Hall and were about to pull open one of the double doors, the doors swung open of their own accord. Harry and Hermione found themselves face to face with Headmaster Karkaroff - looking extremely displeased to have his way barred by two children - and Prince Viktor Krum.

_Should I bow? Or just move?_

But Harry did nothing, paralysed by the attention. His eyes snapped this way and that, taking in his surroundings as though he was about to have to fight. There was a well-organized crowd of Durmstrang students behind the Headmaster and the Prince, and the two bodyguards also stuck out as very possible dangers. Harry knew that everyone in the Entrance Hall was watching, but he doubted that any of them would come to his aid if Karkaroff decided to strike him, which looked like a surprisingly likely outcome, given the look on the Headmaster's face.

_I'd like to see him try._

Harry knew that he should have moved out of the way immediately, but he also knew that if he tried to move at all now, then he would probably enter a duelling stance, so instead he held himself in place. It would probably cause an international incident, but he was not about to let anyone hit him.

_Not anymore._

Instead of striking him, however, Karakroff frowned and opened his mouth to speak. Whatever he was going to say was cut off by the Prince, who chose that moment to clear his throat. Harry watched an undecipherable wordless exchange between the Headmaster and the Prince before the Prince turned to Hermione.

"My lady," Krum said. He inclined his head slightly, holding one fist closed underneath his other hand, in the style that Gryffindors had borrowed from the Fire Nation, and then he stepped out of the way. Karkaroff, his face sporting an extremely sour smile, also stepped aside, and the crowd of Durmstrang students followed suit, creating a pathway.

By the time Harry realized what was happening, Hermione had already returned the bow and proceeded at a brisk pace through the crowd. Harry wasn't sure if he was allowed to follow, but the red walls of enormous hulking firebenders had not yet closed, and Harry did not want to stand there any longer. Before he could make a conscious decision he was hurrying past Prince Viktor.

And that was when the strange thing happened.

Harry's fire, which had been complacent and obedient for so long, soared upwards towards the surface, and he was overtaken by a sudden dizziness. It was like vertigo. Or like the feeling that draws you to the edge of a cliff - but there was no cliff; there was only Krum. Harry missed a step, taken aback by what felt like actual physical magnetism pulling him off course. The feeling abated as he kept moving, but he looked over his shoulder in shock. Krum's face was impassive, but he looked after Harry and Hermione for a long moment before leading his fellow students through the doors and towards the Goblet of Fire.

_Did he feel that too? Or am I just being abnormal?_

Harry increased his pace and caught up with Hermione, who was walking much too fast, her arms crossed hard over her middle. He wasn't sure what had happened - and his fire meekly simmered down now that he was out in the chill air under the cloud-covered sky - but he was sure of one thing.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," Harry said quietly. "But it'll be him..."

"Can you believe him?" Hermione interrupted. "'Oh what a gentleman! My heart is all aflutter!'"

She spoke with a healthy dose of sarcasm, of course, but Harry noted that her cheeks were tinted with pink. He hoped that it was the wind.

* * *

"The champion for Durmstrang," Dumbledore read, in a strong, clear voice, "will be Viktor Krum!"

"Told you!" Harry called to Hermione over the sudden applause that filled the Great Hall. She groaned, but clapped all the same.

Krum stood from the Durmstrang table and bowed first to Headmaster Karkaroff and then to Dumbledore, who genially returned the favour. Krum then bowed to the Goblet of Fire, which Harry thought was a bit excessive, and marched past the staff table and out of the hall, followed by his two bodyguards.

The hall didn't quite descend back into silence - a hundred whispers ran up and down it as everyone watched the Goblet of Fire. Masses of paper lanterns had lit and decorated the Great Hall for tonight's feast, during which Harry had teased Hermione for only selecting very traditional foods despite the variety that was offered, but most of them had been put out by McGonagall, plunging the hall into a semi-darkness that made the goblet look especially impressive.

The goblet once again let out a jet of red fire and a slip of paper fluttered out, leaving a light trail of smoke as it spun towards the floor. Dumbledore snatched it out of the air and peered at it.

"The champion for Beauxbatons," he said, "will be Fleur Delacour!"

"What did I tell you, Weasley? Water Tribe! _Water Tribe_!"

It was quite impressive that he could hear Seamus even over the noise of the crowd. Harry glanced over to see Ron Weasley shaking his head at Seamus, but he noted that Weasley's smile was slightly glazed as he watched the Water Tribe girl with the silvery blonde hair. She, too, bowed to her Headmistress as the hall applauded, but there was something strange about her movement. Harry couldn't quite place what it was, and maybe he was imagining things, but Maxime's answering smile and nod seemed a bit forced. Either way, the girl looked decidedly smug as she made her way out of the hall.

This time the silence that spread was almost oppressive. Hogwarts would be next...

Finally, in a shower of red sparks, a third piece of paper was launched into the hall, and Dumbledore plucked it out of the air as easily as he had the others.

"The champion for Hogwarts will be..." And with a mischievous smile Dumbledore let the silence hang until the hall was just about ready to burst, before finally declaring: "Cedric Diggory!"

There was no intentional bending, as far as Harry could tell, but one hundred earthbenders all making their excitement known by shooting to their feet and stomping the ground and screaming was enough to make the whole Great Hall rumble and shake. It was more than enough to drown out the many disappointed exclamations, and for a mad moment Harry was sure that the ceiling, with its painted stars and constellations, would come crashing down on their heads. Then Mister Crouch Senior raised his hand and the rumbling stopped, though the cheering and clapping went on for some time, even after Cedric and his broad grin had paid their respects to the staff table and vanished from the hall.

"Wonderful!" Dumbledore proclaimed when he finally had a chance to be heard again. He went on to talk of the spirit of competition, and of the support that would be expected of the student body, but Harry found that he was too full and sleepy and content to listen.

Sitting in a far corner of the Gryffindor table, as he always did, Harry was comfortably out of the way and could entertain himself however he wanted, so instead of watching Dumbledore he watched the Goblet of Fire. Harry would have made similar choices, so he had to admit that the thing was quite clever, for being an inanimate object. In the daylight it had been easy to make fun of it, but now its flames were hypnotizing. He imagined that he could feel the heat of those blue flames, even across the entire hall, and that the heat was filling him up.

And since he was already staring at it, he was one of the first to notice when the fire turned red yet again. Soon it was noticed by all, though, and Dumbledore went quiet as a fourth piece of paper twirled and danced down into his hand. The old man stared and stared at the slip of paper.

The silence stretched out, and Harry had an odd sinking feeling in his stomach.

And then Dumbledore spoke, and nothing was ever the same again.

"Harry Potter?"

* * *

Harry breathed in, and the fire rose - Harry breathed out, and the fire sank.

"It makes sense. Hogwarts is half the school Beauxbatons is - so Hogwarts needs two champions! But by this logic, Durmstrang should have three, no?"

"_Fleur_."

That was Maxime, her deep voice and its hint of warning heard easily even as the room erupted with indignant responses to the Water Tribe girl's comments.

"I agree with Miss Delacour," Krum said, surprising the others into silence. "It matters not. Hogwarts and Beauxbatons could have a hundred champions each and it would make no difference. Durmstrang would still win with only one."

"Be that as it may," Karkaroff cut in, rushing to reformulate Krum's words, "it is still a highly unsportsmanlike move! I must say, after all our meetings and compromises, I did not expect behaviour such as this, even from the colonies..."

"_Colonies_, is it?" came an indignant squaw from a voice that Harry didn't recognize. "Now, look _here_ -"

"Ludo," came a sharp, calm voice that could only belong to Mister Crouch Senior, and the other man shut up. "With all due respect, Mister Karkaroff, this is not your game. You agreed upon the rules when you signed our contract. I believe I have a copy somewhere, if your memory is hazy..."

"The rules said nothing about Hogwarts getting another champion!"

Harry breathed in, and the fire rose - Harry breathed out, and the fire sank.

"At the time the contract was finalized it was still uncertain whether the Beifong Academy would be joining the competition, so the number of competitors is not specified in the rules. I will admit that this is a slight anomaly from what was expected, but..."

"Anomaly?! There has obviously been some sort of _manipulation_!"

"Now," Dumbledore finally ordained to speak, "Igor, I do hope that you are not accusing one of my students of foul play, because -"

Maxime interrupted with a frustrated sound. "You don't think they would? All children cheat!"

"Certainly," Dumbledore agreed in a calm and possibly slightly amused tone, "but to get caught - that is simply not the Hogwarts way!"

"Well _someone_ has obviously rigged the game to give Hogwarts the advantage!"

"Not much of an advantage, is it?"

For a second Harry could feel their gazes burning a hole in the back of his head, but they looked away quick enough, too busy arguing with one another to even spare him a second glance.

_Arguing about me._

Harry breathed in, and the fire rose - Harry breathed out, and the fire sank.

His legs were crossed, and starting to fall asleep. The second he had entered the side-chamber, gotten out of the Great Hall where _everyone_ had been looking at him, he had gone and sat down by the fireplace and started this very basic meditative firebending exercise. He had ignored everything else and tried to focus on the flame - on the simple clarity of the rising and the falling - but it was difficult, since the chamber had almost immediately filled up with arguing people.

Headmasters, teachers, politicians, Aurors, champions... No one had spoken a single word to him or asked him what he thought. They were over there discussing his fate as though he didn't have a say in it... It was true that even though he was Harry Potter, he _had_ entertained a brief fantasy of winning the Tournament of Elements. But in the end he had decided not to enter. _He_ had decided not to enter.

_Harry Potter. I made that choice. Me._

"Can someone _please_ get us a copy of the rules?"

"Anyone whose name comes out of the Goblet has to compete. I looked it up. None of us can be pulled out at this point." Fleur Delacour seemed rather pleased about this fact. "Not even the little boy."

Harry breathed in, and the fire rose - rose - _rose._

Harry clenched his eyes shut and pushed down. The flames had been licking at the floor and at the mantle of the fireplace, but they slowly sank back to a regular size and continued to pulsate along with his breathing.

This was the reason he was sitting on the floor. When Dumbledore had said his name, and all those eyes had found him, red hot fire had started shooting up and down his veins, and if he didn't hold it back, he knew that it would get out of control. It was very frustrating - ever since the fight with Crouch, the fire had been his ally, but now it was rebelling again.

_Like it did when you tried to push it down._

Yes, but -

_Like you're doing right now._

Harry stared into the fire, watched it rise and fall. When you generated fire you pushed breath out, but in this exercise the fire rose when you breathed _in_. The fire in the hearth was so intricately connected to that burning _something_ inside him. And it wanted to rise.

Losing control of the fire was losing control of himself, and it only seemed to happen when he forced himself into acting like someone he wasn't. And sitting there meekly while _they_ argued about what to do with him - that simply wasn't him anymore. So what did the fire want him to do? What did he have to do, to not lose its respect? What did _he_ want to do?

_Harry Potter._

He turned his head and looked at the crowd behind him, still spewing their words. They each had their own little pictures of him in their heads. There were variations - he was a weakling, an anomaly, a trickster, _a child_ - but all of them had decided that he should be pissing all over himself in excitement at the idea of competing in their glorious tournament. Would he let them tell him who to be? How to act? He wanted to break their image into a thousand pieces.

Harry made a choice.

"Excuse me. Hello?"

He was on his feet, trying to get their attention, but every single person in the room was taller than him and louder than him. Cedric Diggory was the only one who seemed to have noticed that Harry had even moved, but that was not good enough, so he simply walked into the centre of the crowd, where all of them were doing an awful lot of vicious pointing at one another.

"There must have been some sort of mistake," Harry said, in a very loud and clear voice. "I didn't -"

"Oh, indeed there _has_!" Madam Maxime said, though her eyes were not even on him - they were glued to Fleur Delacour. Others joined in, adding their vehement and malicious agreement to Harry's statement, or saying something else entirely, and they were back in their shouting match.

"I didn't put my name in," Harry said, but no one was listening. He tried repeating himself in a much louder tone: "I didn't put my name in, and I'm not competing!"

This managed, at least, to get Mister Bagman's attention, since he happened to be standing nearest, and though he was powerfully built, he wasn't especially tall, which put him a lot closer to Harry's level than, for instance, Maxime, who was like a tower of blue silk.

"That is nonsense," Bagman explained to Harry, not unkindly, "you can't _not_ compete. Your name came out of the Goblet of Fire - that puts you in the tournament."

"I didn't put my name in," Harry repeated slowly, trying to speak plainly to make the man understand. "And if I'm somehow in the Tournament, then I resign. I'm not competing. I'd appreciate if you could explain that to the rest of them. I'm going now."

Bagman blinked at him. "You can't do that," he said, but Harry was already walking towards the door.

"Hey! You can't resign! Barty - the kid's leaving!"

Harry was almost at the door when there was a rumbling sound and a thick wall of stone raised itself in his path, growing neatly from the slabs that made up the floor. Harry stopped and stared at it for a long moment. Even though it had just come into being it looked old and strong and it blocked the door off completely. He turned around and no one was looking back at him - they were all watching Crouch Senior, who lowered his hand as he spoke.

"Ludo is right," Barty Crouch Senior was saying. He spoke to the group, not to Harry. "No one can resign. It is against the rules."

Harry turned back to the wall and blasted it into a million pieces.

Dust filled the air, and debris was everywhere. Gravel and larger fragments of stone clattered into every part of the chamber, because Harry had not simply made a hole in the wall - he had destroyed it. He straightened up and turned around. Almost everyone had been coated in a layer of dust, except for Krum, who had been shielded by his bodyguards but who was now leaning around them to get a better look.

Politicians, teachers, Aurors and some minor royalty to boot - all manner of people that were above him in all manner of ways - they were all staring at Harry now, and for once in his life he was not embarrassed at being the centre of attention. He was glad he had their attention, finally, because he had something very important to say.

"Fuck the rules."

And then Harry Potter left.

* * *

**Author's Note**

**Ah, Harry... So, what do you think will happen? Obviously, in this world no one can simply go "He just _has_ to do it! It's _magic_!" That part of the original always seemed sort of weak to me - JK sure does solve a lot of problems by waving her hand and declaring it to be magic. On a semi-related note I personally find "binding magical contract" to be the most boring combination of words in Harry Potter fanon, with the possible exception of "soul bond".**

**Thank you for reading. Reviews are appreciated.**

**- The Sorting Cat**


	12. Who Is Harry Potter?

**Author's Note**

**For those of you who interpreted it differently (I don't blame you, since no fire was mentioned), I'd like to clarify that Harry destroyed that wall with a blast of fire.**

**I am now one of those authors with a story over 100k words. Hm... Where exactly do I collect my cake?**

* * *

**Harry Potter: The Last Avatar**

**Book 1: Water**

**Chapter 12: Who Is Harry Potter?**

"Who's Harry Potter?"

The question was on everyone's lips, it seemed. He could hear it whispered behind his back in the corridors, see it written on slips of parchment passed around in class, and he wouldn't be surprised if it was asked in the staff room by Professors that had taught him and then forgotten him the second he left their classroom. The answer was always different.

_Who is Harry Potter?_

"I looked it up, and he actually won the first year league!"

"So what? Firsties can't fight..."

"Yeah, why hasn't he won since then if he's so tough?"

"Wait, how old is he? Twelve? This is ridiculous, they should just _kick him out_!"

"Wait, didn't he get his arse kicked by Fred Weasley?"

"No, you're thinking of Ron Weasley!"

"No, no, _no_, you're thinking of _Draco Malfoy!_"

"I heard he got beaten up by _all of them_."

_Who is Harry Potter?_

"He's dating that Granger girl, isn't he?"

"Lisa, isn't he in Creatures with you?"

"Hm? No, Kevin's the only boy in our class. Or, no, _wait a minute_..."

"I heard from Lisa Turpin that he's dating Parvati Patil!"

_Who is Harry Potter?_

"Didn't you see his duel with Malfoy? It was insane!"

"Wait, someone beat Malfoy? Why didn't I hear about this?"

"Well… Potter didn't actually win. But it was real close."

"So what, a draw?"

"Nah, Malfoy won."

"Ugh. Then why didn't _his_ name come out of the Goblet?"

_Who is Harry Potter?_

"He's the bloody Hogwarts champion, that's who he is!"

The group of second years jumped and fled down the corridor with a clatter of shoes on stone, and Harry turned to glare at the boy who had just bellowed at them in order to stop their whispered speculation.

"I wonder," Harry said acidly, "how you could hear them at all, since you're clearly _deaf_."

"What's that?" Ron Weasley asked.

"You _must_ be deaf if you haven't heard me say a million times that I'm _not_ competing!"

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Ron said, cupping a hand like a trumpet for his ear and making his voice sound like the croak of an old man. "I can't make out a word you're saying, young man!"

He smiled at Harry and walked away along the corridor.

It was the first time all day that Weasley had willingly left his side and Harry would have loved to take the opportunity to escape, but the two of them were already late for Firebending Class. The only reason Weasley's crew wasn't with them was that Harry had lagged behind during lunch in an attempt to separate himself from the group. It had partially worked, since Ron had told Lavender, Seamus, Dean, Neville and Parvati that they should go on ahead, but Ron himself had not gone, and Harry had lost Hermione in the bargain, as she would never risk being late for McGonagall.

So Harry stomped after Ron through the empty corridor, wondering how he was supposed to spread the truth when Ron Weasley was taking every opportunity to spout his _misinformation_. It had started as soon as he came back into the common room the night before...

* * *

He'd heard voices, but everything went dead quiet as he stepped through the portrait hole.

_Ah, shit._

A sea of blank faces and golden eyes were all pointed at him. It looked like every single member of Gryffindor House was present, spread out in groups according to year. Harry tried to make the words 'It was a mistake. I'm not competing,' come out of his mouth with the same certainty that he'd managed downstairs, but there were several hundred eyes looking at him and the silence only stretched out. There were a few first and second years but almost everyone else towered over Harry just like Crouch Senior's looming wall - except Harry couldn't blast this one to pieces.

_Couldn't you?_

It was a moment of precarious balance. No one did or said anything, because no one seemed to know what to make of him. They were all busy looking him over, assessing him, trying to decide how to react, but any second now the spell would be broken and the balance would shift. Harry looked uneasily through the crowd, searching for Hermione but not finding her.

And then Ron Weasley was walking towards him, through the small no man's land that had sprung up between Harry and everyone else. Ron stopped a few feet from Harry, face expressionless, staring him down. Harry stared back. They were right there, on the razor's edge.

_And he's holding the razor._

"You bastard!"

"It was a -" Harry started, but he didn't get further, because Ron Weasley's face had split into a massive grin, and before Harry could shake his paralysis, Ron had engulfed him in a crushing, back-slapping hug.

"You brilliant bastard!"

"No, listen, Ron," Harry said quickly and quietly as Ron pulled away, still with his hands on Harry's shoulders. "I'm not competing!"

Ron gave him a shrewd look and spun him around so that the two of them faced the crowd together, Ron's arm draped over Harry's shoulder.

"Ladies and gentlemen, fellow flames in the dark," Ron roared, "may I present to you... the _Gryffindor_ champion!"

There was a blinding flash of light from Colin Creevey's camera and suddenly there was talking everywhere. The crowd didn't look terribly convinced by Ron's proclamation, but a second later Seamus was there, shaking Harry violently and bellowing his congratulations. Dean grinned and punched Harry's shoulder, and even Neville dared to awkwardly slap his back in celebration. Hermione was still nowhere to be seen, but Lavender had a hand on Ron's shoulder, smiling a confused smile, and Parvati was there too. Between all the congratulations she sent Harry a private look that he had no time at all to decipher.

"No, I -"

But no one was listening. The focus was still on the group around Harry, but people had turned back to one another and were babbling like crazy. Ron Weasley wasn't at the _very_ top of the Gryffindor food chain, but he was certainly known to everyone, and since no one above or below fourth year knew Harry Potter, they took their cue from Ron.

Not to say that everyone was as enthusiastic - sure, some first years ogled Harry like he was from out of this world, but most of the upperclassmen were viewing him like he was some strange and alien _fungus_. Harry wanted to set the record straight, and to call up some of his conviction from before, but he was tired in more ways than one and as soon as he managed to disentangle himself from Ron Weasley he headed straight for the stairs.

Usually he was able to slip in and out of the common room without anyone noticing or caring; now every eye was on him. He did not have to squeeze his way through the crowd, at least - they parted for him as if he had some sort of disease. When he'd gone up half a flight of stairs he stopped and took a few deep breaths, noting that the sound level in the common room had gone up quite a bit as soon as he left. But quick strides brought on silence as he walked past empty dorm after empty dorm, finally arriving at the fourth year boys' room.

He closed the door and went to pull the curtains around his bed open, fully prepared to wrench them shut behind him and to never open them again. However, his plan to collapse onto the bed had to be aborted at the very last second, because there was already someone in it.

Brown curls were spread in a mess across his pillow. There was a book lying open in her hands, of course.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

It was said in a very accusing tone and for a second Harry felt very lost.

"You have the whole set!" She held up the book she'd been reading. It was one of the history books that his mother had gotten him for his birthday. "You've been holding out," she concluded, smirking at him.

Whatever expression was on his face, it made her laugh.

"I didn't put my name in," Harry said, feeling like a broken record.

"Honestly," Hermione said in a businesslike tone, "you think I don't know that?"

"No one else does," Harry said, defensively. He'd been steeling himself for an argument that didn't seem to be happening, and he felt somewhat cheated.

"No one else is me."

She said it simply, with a smile, and Harry felt something tighten in his chest. He cleared his throat and looked away for a second or two. He didn't know exactly what he was feeling, but he wanted to find some way of expressing it. It seemed important to do so.

"Thank you," he said, feeling awkward and foolish but soldiering on, "for believing me. I really mean it... I, um -"

Hermione just rolled her eyes and grabbed onto his arm. In one movement she scooted to the side and tugged him down so that they were lying side by side. The sheets were warm underneath him, where she'd been. He let out a deep breath and gave up on talking, and for a while they just stared up at the canopy.

"I'm not going to compete," Harry said, finally.

"Okay."

"They can't make me compete."

"No," Hermione agreed, "they can't."

Silence.

Slowly, the muscles in his body began to relax. His mind, which had been on high alert since the goblet spewed out his name, melted into a mush as he allowed himself to think and feel nothing at all. He slipped into a meditative state that was somewhere close to sleep, except blessedly bereft of dreams. It was something McGonagall had been trying to teach them all for years, and it was not something that he could often achieve.

It also didn't last, because he was becoming more and more aware of her warmth next to him. His pillow smelled of Hermione, and it was a collision of worlds that sent him spinning down memory lane to the last time they'd been together on a bed...

"Where do you go on Thursdays?"

Her voice was small and soft, so far from the demanding tone he was used to hearing from her.

"Detention?" Harry said feebly, though he knew the jig was up. Saying it was almost a joke, at this point, but Hermione did not laugh. He looked to his side and saw Hermione staring upwards, her face set in an expressionless mask, and he got scared.

"I, um, duelled Malfoy."

"Yes, I know."

"You do?"

"Of course I do."

"You didn't mention it," Harry protested weakly.

"Neither did you." She said this rather bitterly. "It was the day he helped me to the Hospital Wing, right? He seemed so nice..."

"'_Nice_'." Anger bubbled up inside Harry, though it was mostly at being forced to remember that _he_ had put her in the Hospital Wing that day.

Hermione made an exasperated sound. The mattress shook as she shifted so that she was lying on her side, facing him with her head propped up on one hand "Would you please just come out and say it? You don't like him, do you?"

"Well," Harry said, still staring upwards. "No. Not at all, actually."

"Well then _say so_!" Hermione exclaimed. "How am I supposed to be on your side when you don't tell me who our enemies are?"

He turned his head and looked at her in mild surprise, but he had to look away quickly because their heads were much too close and her words had something warm spreading through his chest. Hermione, the girl who always asked questions, apparently didn't need to understand why he hated Malfoy. She was on his side, no matter what. He had known that, of course, but it hit him particularly hard right then.

"Moody saw the duel," Harry said, because he didn't know what else to say. "I've been training with him, every Thursday."

"Oh," Hermione said, sounding surprised, but only a little. "Well... Good."

"You're not going to ask why?"

"I know why."

And she touched the mark on her cheek - the light red line that Harry had left there - but she was smiling to herself, so Harry could not find it in himself to feel bad. He also couldn't look away. And when she lowered her fingers he could not stop his own hand from reaching out. She looked surprised when he cupped her cheek but she did not shy away.

"This," he said, tracing his thumb against the mark, "should have gone by now..."

Her cheek felt hot against his hand.

"I don't mind it."

She said it quietly, but with a strange determination, and the look in her eye made his heart beat faster. Again, Harry could not look away.

The sound of someone clumping up the stairs made the moment collapse in on itself and they sprang apart. Harry looked around, thinking wildly that he needed to find a place to _hide_ Hermione. He was sitting on the side of the bed and she was standing beside him, smoothing down her skirt, when the person outside cleared his throat and coughed loudly before knocking heavily on the door.

"Time's up!"

Ron Weasley opened the door stuck his head in. He had a hand over his eyes, but parted the fingers and peeked through, grinning at them.

"Well, well," Ron said. "You two owe me! Some of our idiot roommates wanted to rush up and interfere."

"And that's not what you're doing now?" Harry asked.

"It's been two hours," Ron said, reproachfully.

_That long?_

"Time flies, doesn't it?" Ron smirked at him. "Even for a stud like yourself, I figured that'd do it."

Harry opened his mouth to say something angry, but he halted himself when Hermione grabbed and squeezed his hand. By the time he turned towards her she was already moving to the stairs, and then she was gone.

"Best move real stealthy on your way out, Granger," Ron called after her. "People are watching that door!" When her footsteps had faded Ron closed the door and then turned to give Harry a glare. "Don't think I don't understand, but you shouldn't have left me down there! I've drummed up a little support, but it _really_ would have helped if you'd stayed and socialized... There are quite a few people who want to meet you now, you know."

Harry did not answer. He was rather stunned by the fact that he was being gently _reprimanded_ by Ron Weasley.

"Then again," Ron continued, "we could always lean on the whole 'mysterious recluse' angle." He took a long look at Harry, whose mouth was hanging open. "We might _have_ to..."

"Didn't I say," Harry wondered aloud, "that I'm not competing?"

"You did say that," Ron allowed, then quickly went on: "How'd it go with Granger, anyway? Should I be bumping your fist? Will you be walking with an extra spring in your step tomorrow?"

Harry stared at the redhead for a good long while before getting onto his bed and closing the curtains.

"That's a pity!" Ron called from the other side. "But don't worry - being Hogwarts champion's going to do a lot for you with the ladies!"

"I'm not going to compete!" Harry called out, stripping off his clothes and getting under the covers. The smell of Hermione was everywhere, still.

"Harry!" Ron said, disapproval dripping from his tone. "No one wants to hear that!"

* * *

Harry's fingers tapping against the side of his chair became the only sound in the classroom as the last stragglers disappeared through the door leading back to the hallways of Hogwarts. He glanced at the _other_ door, which looked very new and very sturdy, and wondered what he would see if he stepped through it.

Practical firebending was still done in the arena, but for their theoretical work they had returned to the classroom. He looked up at McGonagall who sat with her clasped hands resting on the desk, hard eyes watching him closely. He supposed that he should be feeling intimidated.

"What is this about, Professor?" Harry asked, though he thought he knew. "Not to be rude, but I've got Literature in just a few minutes."

"I wanted to give you the results of your exam in person," McGonagall said.

"Ah." He felt both relieved and oddly disappointed.

When McGonagall had held him back he had, of course, assumed that it would be about the Tournament of Elements. As McGonagall pulled out a hefty pile of papers, Harry remembered last week's exam and a very different sort of dread rushed through him. It was a minor and regular type of dread, and it felt oddly good to be worrying about test scores.

The class was about to start working on crafting patterns and symbols out of fire - a highly complicated practice that required all of them to pass a written exam on the theory before even attempting it. Harry took the clump of papers and flipped through them.

"Hey," Harry said, and he could feel his eyebrows shooting up as he reached the last page, "I passed."

"By two points," McGonagall pointed out.

"Better than failing by two points," Harry said, meeting her eye and grinning.

"Barely," McGonagall said, her face made of stone. "You failed most of the questions in the first section."

"Yes," Harry agreed, flipping back through the first few pages and glancing at his answers and the many little marks that now accompanied them, left in McGonagall's infamous red ink.

The first part of the exam had dealt with the history of the practice, and the only thing Harry had remembered from that lecture was that the lowly travelling entertainers who roamed the world hundreds of years ago had done more to develop and perfect the art than all the Fire Sages and other learned men of the Fire Nation.

"One might argue that you made up for it in the second part," McGonagall conceded, "although you would have avoided many deductions simply by taking more care to show your work."

Harry tried to not let his surprise show. He had thought that it would be the other way around - that he'd done okay on the first part, but totally messed up the second, which had contained complicated geometry and calculations using a system of measuring and quantizing the energy used by a firebender. Harry had tuned out most of the lectures regarding this system, since it had all seemed much too technical to him, and he had, of course, come to regret this during the exam.

When he'd realized that he had no idea what he was doing, and that he'd undoubtedly need to retake the exam, he'd simply made guesses at the answers. That was the reason he couldn't have shown his work - there hadn't been any. But flicking through the second part of the test now, he found...

_Much less red... I'm a lucky boy, aren't I?_

"It might interest you to know," McGonagall was saying, "that your results are the inverse of most of your classmates. The norm is to pass the first section with ease and to struggle with the second."

"Well then," Harry said, shoving down the sense of foreboding that always came along with any good fortune that fell into his lap, "I'll make sure to adhere to the norm in future."

McGonagall glared at him.

"Was that all, Professor?"

"No, Mister Potter. I have been instructed to inform you that you are to attend a _press conference_" - she said this phrase as though it was something rather dirty - "this afternoon. You will proceed to the second floor directly after this, where -"

"I have Literature."

McGonagall gave him a halfway stern look at the interruption. "I am well aware. Madame Pince has been informed of your absence."

"Needlessly so," Harry said, "as I will be present."

"Mister Potter, you will need to -"

"I have read 'Love Amongst the Dragons' in its entirety," Harry pointed out, probably pushing his luck by interrupting her twice, "and will need to attend class to vent some frustration."

"Mister Potter -"

"I mean, it just ends with the supposed heroine throwing herself into a volcano! What's romantic about that?"

"Mister _Potter!_"

Harry stopped. There was nothing 'halfway' about the stern look she was giving him now. Her lips were clenched unbelievably tight and her eyes held a fire. Harry raised an eyebrow at her.

"Did I not express myself clearly enough last night?"

"You expressed yourself much _too_ clearly, Mister Potter," McGonagall said sharply. "Be glad that I have been instructed not to dole out any punishment for your _clarity_."

"Instructed by who?" Harry asked, before he could stop himself.

It was quick and slight, but he was watching for it, so he saw her flinch at the question. A split second later she had regained her composure.

"By Professor Dumbledore, of course," she said, irritably.

"Of course."

There was a moment of silence and then Harry straightened the papers of his exam against his knees and unclasped the buckle on his book-bag, stashing the exam inside. He stood up and threw the strap of the bag across his chest.

"Did I say that you may leave?" McGonagall asked. Her voice was dangerously calm.

"Well," Harry said, not sitting back down, "was there anything else, Professor?"

"People have been asking me about Harry Potter," McGonagall mused. "I have not been telling them that he is arrogant."

"What _have_ you been telling them?"

"That even after four years," McGonagall said, "I do not understand him at all."

_Makes two of us..._

"Professor," Harry said, in as businesslike a manner as he could muster, "as you are aware, there must have been some mistake, since I didn't put my name into the Goblet of Fire, and I have no inclination to compete."

"They are saying that you do not have a choice."

"Are they?" Harry asked, hiding his anger as best he could. "Well, as you said, you remember my clarity. What will they do? Physically drag me to the stadium?"

"I don't know," McGonagall admitted stiffly. "Perhaps."

Harry shrugged. "Then I will throw every duel and sit out every task."

"Will you?" McGonagall asked. "I wonder..."

_If I say I'm going to do something, then I'm going to do it._

"Well," Harry said, feeling very definitely that the conversation was over. The urge for verbal sparring that overcame him occasionally was also quick to abandon him, and it was long gone now. "I have a class to attend."

He walked briskly to the door - the one leading back to the hallways of Hogwarts - and opened it.

"Mister Potter."

"Yes?" Harry turned around wearily, not stepping away from the doorway.

The Professor wore an unreadable expression, rather than the anger he'd been expecting. Her eyes were not on him any longer - she had gone back to grading her papers.

"I can neither take nor give points for it, Mister Potter, but that business with the wall... It was quite an impressive display of firebending."

"Thank you, Professor," he said, after a surprised pause.

He didn't know what else to say, and so he stood there for a moment and was just about to give up and close the door behind him when the Professor spoke again.

"I always preferred," McGonagall said thoughtfully, "the part where the heroine rode the dragon into battle and scorched the whole country in flame."

"Yes," Harry said, after a moment's thought. "That part was alright."

* * *

Dust danced through the air, backlit by the flame in Harry's hand. Harry thought that there was a - how might we put it - _tasteful_ amount of dust in this particular passage. Enough that it should dance and twirl through the darkness when disturbed, but not enough to give anyone a coughing fit.

Even though Harry had tried to go about his day as if nothing was different, the stares and whispers were not easy for him to ignore. So he now found himself skulking through one of the lesser known secret passages of Hogwarts.

No one had even known Harry's name two days ago, and now everyone knew it. They seemed to know very little else though, and he'd heard many entertaining answers to the "Who is Harry Potter" question. Apparently he was an orphan, grown up on the streets of the Fire Nation Capitol. Oh, and the reason he never talked to anyone was that he was a mute. He wasn't sure if his tongue had been cut out or if he'd just been born like that - it was rather difficult to keep track, these days.

On top of that it was impossible to have a real conversation even with the people that he _wanted_ to talk to. Weasley and his cronies were always around, and Harry found that it was impossible to exchange his usual banter with Hermione when they were surrounded by people. And he usually enjoyed Parvati's company when they were alone in Creatures, but now that they were somehow part of the same group, they did not speak.

In fact, when Harry got to Creatures, Parvati had smiled and congratulated him as if they hadn't seen each other since it happened. He'd explained, again, that he hadn't put his name in, and at first she nodded and winked and said that _of course_ he hadn't, but when she realized how adamant he was about not competing, she insisted that she believed him. He suspected that she was just placating him, and they spent the whole lesson in uneasy silence, their every move watched carefully by the rest of the class.

Professor Hagrid had also congratulated him, but when Harry explained the situation he'd simply said "oh dear," scratched his beard, and declared that it sounded like "quite an embuggerance." This cheered Harry up a bit.

Harry reached the end of the passage, which looked a lot like a dead end. Bringing his flame close to the wall he could make out the simple symbol that was carved in the stone, and he traced his fingers along the familiar spiral. He remembered the thrill of discovering this particular passageway, and of figuring out how to open it at this end, but he hadn't used it for a long time, and he paused for a second as memories of his first year flooded back.

He and Hermione had made a game of it - whoever could find out the most Hogwarts secrets in a month would win a bowl of sugar. He couldn't remember why they'd selected that prize, except that it had something to do with her parents being dentists. She'd played along, though he suspected that it was largely for his benefit, since he was clearly more invested in the game than her. After his stuffy little room in 'the most modern city in the world', Hogwarts had been an almost magical place, with its ancient stone halls and its hundreds of statues, suits of armour and large paintings that, as often as not, hid some wondrous secret to be discovered.

This passage had always been a thorn in his side, however, because there were other symbols carved along the length of the secret hallway, and he'd never been able to open any of them. He suspected that earthbending was required, or possibly airbending, and he'd spent hours in here, running his hands along the walls and trying to solve the puzzle. But that was a long time ago now, and Harry hadn't been in this passage for over two years... He'd lost his appetite for secrets after the Chamber.

Tracing his finger along the spiral from the outside in, he found the small hole - the size of half a fingernail - at its centre. He put his ear against the wall and listened for a minute, then took a deep breath and blew air into the hole, as hard as he could. For a few seconds there was nothing, and then a series of clicks could be heard. He stepped back as the wall gently slid apart, splitting itself down the middle along an invisible seam.

He stepped through into a narrow corridor of bookshelves. Behind him the wall closed again, reforming itself into a shelf filled with some very old books on airbending. This was a dimly lit, out of the way corner of the library that people seldom came down, but he took a second to make sure that he hadn't been seen before making his way towards the library exit.

He had one foot outside the door when he spotted a head of flaming hair, and he spun back around immediately, hiding in the library for another few minutes before leaving and making his way towards Moody's office.

"Harry, my boy!"

Harry looked over his shoulder. He had escaped Ron Weasley to be cornered by Ludo Bagman.

_Out of the frying pan..._

"Mister Bagman! I trust you are well?" He did not stop walking.

"Oh, well enough, well enough!" Bagman caught up and matched Harry's stride. "I was wondering if I could borrow your ear for one minute, Harry!"

"Borrow away!"

Bagman's face was unbelievably expressive; his eyebrows shooting up to impossible heights at the merest provocation, but Harry fought fire with fire, straining the muscles of his face in the process.

"Well, we are having these uniforms made for the champions - they're going to be appropriately dashing, I promise you - and I need your thoughts on the colouring!"

"Well, I hardly see how my thoughts are relevant, but please, go on."

Bagman put a hand on Harry's shoulder and stopped walking, and Harry chose to stop too, rather than tear himself away. For the moment, at least.

"Well! If we were going by traditional Hogwarts colours, then Mister Diggory would wear yellow and Prince Viktor and Miss Delacour would wear red and green, respectively. But of course, our visitors might be more inclined to wear the colours of their own school."

"Hm. Yes. I fail to see the problem. Why don't you just let each champion select their colour?"

"Well, yes, that's why I'm talking to you, isn't it? Since red is not only the colour of Durmstrang but also the colour of the Fire Nation - and most particularly its royal family - Viktor Krum is hardly going to accept any other nuance! But of course, _you_ are also a firebender, Mister Potter! So what colour do we give to _you_?"

"Ah, yes," Harry said, nodding to himself, "that would certainly be a problem if I were going to compete. Luckily, as we both know, I am not competing. Will that be all?" He smiled at the man and started walking away.

"Oh Harry," Bagman exclaimed good-naturedly, keeping pace easily, "I thought we were over this! Your little outburst is forgiven and forgot - a little bit of nerves is nothing to be ashamed of - but it's simply not possible to pull out now!"

Harry stopped again and turned to face the man, who was still sporting his genial, empty smile.

"Forgot, is it? What could I do that you wouldn't forget?"

Bagman laughed. Harry didn't.

"I'm going to be late for dinner, Mister Bagman," Harry said, walking off again with Bagman towing behind.

"Now, see here, Harry - oh, I say... What on earth?"

They had rounded a corner and come upon a strange scene. A cluster of students were gathered around a Ravenclaw boy who was sitting on a wide windowsill, taking money. Harry watched with mild interest as coins changed hands and the boy handed out small objects from a wooden box he had at his side.

"Excuse me!" Bagman boomed. "What is going on here?"

Everyone turned and at the sight of Bagman in his pinstriped suit the crowd immediately dispersed, leaving behind the boy with the box, who was frantically stuffing money into his pockets. Harry watched the dozen people who hurried away, taking in who they were, and who wore what. He recognized Justin Finch-Fletchley and Hannah Abbot and a few others, and apart from that there were mostly other Hufflepuffs of all ages, along with a few Ravenclaws and Slytherins - even a couple of older Gryffindors.

_Not that it matters..._

One or two of them tried to hide their new acquisitions as they passed Harry, but most did not, choosing instead to flaunt the buttons that now adorned their robes. Harry ignored them and walked up to the boy on the windowsill.

"Mister Goldstein, isn't it?"

Anthony Goldstein cleared his throat awkwardly and mumbled something that sounded like "nothing personal, Potter, you understand... Supply and demand..."

Goldstein was about to snap his box shut but Harry put his hand on the lid, holding it open and glancing down at the buttons inside.

"Oh, absolutely. I've been wondering who made these, actually - I'm glad I caught you!" Goldstein flinched at this, but Harry kept going in his overly cordial and pleasant tone. "How did you get them made so quickly? They do look rather professional, I must say."

Harry picked up a copy of each badge and studied them more closely. One was yellow and read 'Support Cedric Diggory - the Real Hogwarts Champion', and the other was vividly green and simply said, in big block letters: 'Potter Stinks!'

"Oh, I say!" Bagman had followed, and was grumbling to himself as he took a closer look at the badges. He skewered Anthony, who already looked ready to jump out the window, with a stern look. "Rather poor sportsmanship, this!"

"Hm. Which one suits me?" Harry held both badges up to his chest, turning to Bagman. "Would the green one be too much?"

"What?" Bagman said in bewilderment. "You couldn't _possibly_ -"

"Yes, you're right," Harry agreed, putting the 'Potter Stinks' badge back in the box. "It would be rather _on the nose_, as it were." He gave a laugh as fake as all the ones Bagman had been hailing down on him, then turned back to Goldstein, holding up the 'Cedric Diggory' badge. "I'll take one, please. How much?"

"Just take it," Goldstein mumbled, closing his little box quickly now that Bagman's flabbergasted gaze was fixed on Harry rather than him.

"Don't be silly," Harry said, and he dug a few coins from his pocket.

Goldstein was about to slip away. Harry could see it in the way his eyes shifted; in the way his shoes moved lightly against the stones underneath. Airbenders could be very fast, but so could Harry, and when Goldstein twisted to walk away, Harry was already in his path. Goldstein shifted in a classic airbending pattern and would have disappeared if Harry wasn't familiar with that move. Goldstein did not pull it off half as well as Cho Chang could - nor as well as Harry himself could.

It was not a fight, exactly, because they moved slowly and neither of them was attempting to lay hand on the other, but a few seconds later Harry had manoeuvred Goldstein so that he was pressed against the wall, one hand extended in front of him, holding the coins that had been in Harry's hand.

"I pay my debts," Harry said with a smile.

"Sure," Goldstein mumbled. He looked like his head was spinning from their little dance. Harry stepped away and Goldstein hurried off along the corridor, footsteps echoing in the empty hallway.

Harry attached the badge to the front of his robes, looked down at himself appreciatively and turned to Bagman, who was still looking rather stunned. "That's handy, isn't it? So if you forget again -" Harry tapped the badge and grinned.

He was about to walk away when Bagman's hand flew out and clenched painfully onto his shoulder. Harry almost reacted without thinking - he was moving to twist away and strike back when he saw the expression on Bagman's face. The man had dropped his good-natured act, but he wasn't looking angry, which was more or less what Harry had been aiming at. Instead he looked worried.

"Mister Potter." Bagman said this quietly, and his voice was strained, as if he was unaccustomed to speaking without booming his every word. "You do not want to do this."

Harry studied Bagman's features for a few seconds. The man almost looked afraid.

_But of what?_

"Thank you for your concern," Harry said, prying the man's fingers off his shoulder. "But I think I do."

This time, when he walked away, Bagman did not follow.

* * *

Harry had an extra spring in his step after walking away from Bagman, but he'd lied about heading down for dinner. It was Thursday, and so he was going to Moody's office. Fighting with Moody was painful and often it seemed as if it yielded very little result, but it had become the norm - it was simply what Harry did every Thursday - and what with everything going on, Harry was looking forward to some semblance of normality.

This hope was punctured when he opened the door to Moody's office.

"Um."

In the middle of the room there stood a small low table that had never been there before, and on the floor by its side was Mad-Eye Moody, halfway through the process of _making tea_. He did not look up, but he did speak as Harry hesitantly closed the door.

"How do you take your tea?"

"I prefer coffee."

"You disgust me. Have I taught you nothing?"

"Fine. Splash of milk, no sugar."

A disgruntled grumble let Harry know that he'd made a halfway respectable choice.

Harry walked up and lowered himself into a sitting position by the table. There was no carpet and the cool stone floor sent a chill up his legs. He looked over the tea-set, which appeared to be in pristine condition, and for a moment he wondered whether he should be the one making the tea. Depending on how old fashioned you were, the serving of tea could be seen as a sign of respect or reverence. But the old man handled his kettle with the same care and focus that he gave to his weapons, and Harry did not dare touch anything.

After a minute of silence, Moody placed a cup before Harry, who bowed instinctually and drank. It had a much less biting taste than the teabags Harry was used to, and it was surprisingly flowery, the heat and taste and aroma filling him up. It was quite soothing, but Harry was too unsettled by this break from their routine - they should be pummelling one another by now - to enjoy it. Harry wanted everything to be back to normal, and this certainly wasn't normal.

"Now..." Moody said, after they had been drinking in silence for a few tense minutes. "What are you doing?"

"I'm not doing anything," Harry answered, taking care not to speak too quickly.

Moody looked at the badge on Harry's chest and then gave him a glare. Every look from Moody was a glare - and a grotesque one at that, considering his eye - but this one was especially pointed.

"Yes, you are."

Moody indicated that Harry should refill their cups, and Harry did so in silence.

"What do you think the point of this tournament is?" Moody asked, lifting up his fresh cup and inhaling the heat.

"To 'promote international co-operation'," Harry intoned in a bored voice, parroting Crouch Senior's words from the short speech he'd held before the Goblet of Fire made its selection.

"Well done," Moody said, raising his eyebrows approvingly, "what a good little sheep you are."

"Well," Harry said, "it must be true; it was said by the Minister of International Co-operation. He should know."

"Minister of _International Co-operation_!" Moody let out a harsh laugh. "Someone got a raise for thinking up that one, I promise you..." He took a gulp and shook his head. "That's where the Republic is heading. They need people who can dress things up; real experts at beating about the bush. Out with the blunt, and in with the Crouch."

"Maybe that's good," Harry found himself saying. For all his talk of being blunt, Moody certainly wasn't being very clear at the moment, and Harry was becoming irritated. "You worked for Grindelwald, after all. Some say you were his right hand man."

Moody watched Harry for a long moment after that. Harry drank his tea.

"Aye," Moody finally said, "I worked for Grindelwald, like I worked for the man that was before him and the man who came after. They kept changing what they called me - chief, general, commander - but my job was always the same. Upholding the law."

"Is it really the same job if the law changes?" Harry asked. Binns had only just started going through Grindelwald's short reign and the many strange and terrible things that were done during that time.

"You sound like Dumbledore," Moody said, sourly. "Try to grow a beard and maybe people will call you wise..."

It had never been quite clear to Harry how Mad-Eye Moody stayed a free man when Grindelwald fell. But then, as far as Harry knew, there hadn't been all that many arrests after Grindelwald was put down, except for a few very public scapegoats. His supporters had all, apparently, done it out of fear, and they'd all been threatened, and their families as well, and what were they supposed to do?

"You do your duty and you're punished for it," Moody said thoughtfully. "I was kept around for a few years, stuck training useless lugs like your father -" Harry's lip twitched at this, and he hid his smile with another gulp of tea - "and then tossed away like yesterday's garbage. A lot has happened since then... Republic City has been growing, fast. It's got more money moving around inside it than all the Nations put together."

People from the Republic liked to look down on other parts of the world, but Harry wasn't so sure that the polluted, overcrowded mess they called home should be seen as a role model.

"What a glorious melting pot for industry and development!" The way Moody said this made Harry think that the old Auror might share some of his distaste, though he would admit that Moody spoke of most things in a similarly nasty manner. "The Republic's taking over, one way or another, and the Earth Kingdom is fine with that - there's too much money moving back and forth between Republic City and Ba Sing Se for them to care. Not to mention the railways; spreading across the whole Earth Kingdom like a spiderweb. You'll note that it's Republic City at the centre, where the spider should be, and not the Earth Kingdom capitol. No, for most intents and purposes, the Earth Kingdom is _part_ of the Republic."

Harry looked up sharply. "What about the Earth King?"

"What about him? He's always been a figurehead, except now it's the Council pulling his strings rather than some Earth Kingdom shadow mob."

Harry had harboured suspicions along these lines, but to hear it said outright by someone who obviously had more insight into the upper level of politics...

_Why is he telling me this?_

"Now, the Fire Nation and Water Tribe aren't as happy," Moody went on. "The Republic's been attracting their water and firebenders for years. There's nowhere else where being able to bend will get you as many instant privileges as in Republic City, and by the time the Fire Nation and Water Tribe realized this they'd already lost a lot of people like the Potters..."

Harry remembered the red identification badge he'd been given when he became registered as a firebending citizen of the United Republic. It had looked so cool to him back then.

"And now the Republic is marching on while they're left in the dust," Moody said, wistfully. "So what do they do? Cling to culture, cling to pride, cling to tradition. And the Fire Nation has a great military tradition..."

"Why haven't I heard about this?"

"You live in Republic City, don't you? Why would they bother giving you information about a potential war when they're busy moulding your mind into other shapes?"

_War?_

"You think there's going to be a war?" Harry asked, completely taken aback. It was not something he'd ever been able to consider, despite the many theories running through his head. A chill ran through him as he wondered _why_ he hadn't been able to consider it. Was that their work too?

"Grindelwald wanted war. Look where that got him." Moody grimaced. "No, tensions are rising, but you don't have to go to war to take over the world - if you're clever enough and if you have enough money... I asked you what you think the purpose of this tournament is. What's your real answer?"

Harry considered for a moment. "Hogwarts is not the Republic, but most of us are _from_ the Republic... Do they want 'their' champion to beat Beauxbatons and Durmstrang?"

Moody tilted his hand back and forth, conceding a point for Harry, but not a perfect score.

"I think that's how the Fire Nation and Water Tribe are looking at it - they've come to win, because they think it'll show that they're still superior... And it makes a sort of sense - they were hardly going to refuse a challenge to their national pride, were they? And now that Krum and Delacour have been selected, it makes even more sense."

"What do you mean?"

"Krum's royalty," Moody said, as though it was obvious, "and in the Fire Nation that means something - makes him a symbol. He might as well wear a big blasted flag as a cape! And Delacour, well, she's no princess, but with her ancestors some might put her _above_ royalty. Water Tribe and Fire Nation - they both want to win, but they don't seem to realize that they already lost something the second they accepted..."

"It's held at Hogwarts," Harry said, "but everyone knows that the Republic is organizing the tournament." He thought of the new stadium, and of the Aurors and the film cameras, and of Barty Crouch Senior.

"So what does the Republic want?" Moody asked sharply, but this time he did not wait for Harry to answer. "They want to put on a show! The biggest show the world's ever seen..."

"You think they want to take over the world with a show?" Harry asked, with genuine incredulity. It seemed more than a bit absurd. "What the hell kind of show would that be?"

"The kind where everyone dances to their tune." Moody waggled a finger at Harry. "And you're not dancing, Potter."

Harry leaned back and let out a long breath. Moody's lecture had put him at the edge of his seat, despite himself. "But _why_," he asked in exasperation, "would they care about me?" It was rather a lot to take in, and imagining himself as fitting in anywhere in this puzzle was dizzying. "I'm not important!"

"I agree completely," Moody said, grinning and emptying his cup before turning sombre. "This isn't about you, so you need to stop _making it_ about you. You don't want to catch their eye. Just play the part you're given, and they'll leave you alone. Just give me that badge," he pointed to the 'Support Cedric Diggory' badge on Harry's chest, "and go to the next press conference. Dance for them, and you'll be alright."

Moody seemed to have finished, and he sat with his arms crossed, watching Harry. Harry gazed for a long time into his teacup, as if Trelawney was right and it might reveal all the mysteries of the world, before looking up and meeting Mad-Eye's eye.

"No."

Moody held his gaze for only a few seconds before sighing and grabbing a biscuit off his tea-tray, consuming it in one bite. Harry didn't know if it was determination or just stubbornness, but even though he saw some of the bigger picture now, he still didn't see what it all had to do with him. They could have their show without him and it wouldn't make the slightest difference.

_And I didn't put my damn name in._

"Well then," Moody said, brushing some crumbs off his lips. "I've done my bit. If you won't listen to me, then someone else will have to show you."

_I don't like the sound of that..._

"What do you mean? Who?"

"Finish your tea. He should be here any second."

Harry did not finish his tea. Instead he stood up and turned to the door, because someone was already knocking at it.

"Well," Moody called out, "don't just stand there!"

And, indeed, the person outside opened the door and entered.

"What have I told you about knocking?" Moody grumbled.

"Uh, I believe it was 'only reason to ever hit a door is to break it in'?"

"Good lad."

In the doorway, smiling at Harry's teacher, was Barty Crouch.

_Junior._

Harry only had time to turn his head to Mad-Eye, who was giving the Captain a good natured frown, and to feel utterly betrayed, before Crouch and his crooked smile was right next to him.

"Now then. You're coming with me, _Mister Potter._"

* * *

Harry could see his own wavy reflection, but beyond it the blackness seemed infinite. Even though the surface had been turned into a dark mirror by the light from Harry's lantern, he knew that the deep suffocating depths were hiding just underneath those waves, and it made his head swim.

_Vertigo._

He gripped the wooden edge of the prow; felt the rough texture against his fingers. Looking up, he could see spiky shadows of armoured men watching them from the deck of the Durmstrang ship as they moved slowly but steadily out onto the lake. Their boat was small - infinitesimal next to the great metal ship - and Harry wondered if it might be the exact same one that he'd taken across the lake before the start of his first year. The water hadn't bothered him then, as far as he could remember, but it was certainly bothering him now.

_Are you sure it's the water?_

Harry clenched his eyes shut. He was angry with himself for letting old anxieties come to the surface. Harry knew that Crouch was sitting at the back of the boat, gently waterbending the two of them forwards, but he did not turn around. He did not need to turn and keep his eye on Crouch, because Crouch had never done anything wrong towards him. He was a keeper of the peace.

_What would you do, though, if he pushed you under and held you there?_

He was an Auror. There for the protection of the students and visiting diplomats. He was hardly going to murder Harry within sight of the school.

_But you think he might do it once you're out of sight?_

Harry shook himself. He did not know this man. He did not know anything about him.

"Do you like movies, Mister Potter?"

Harry finally turned and looked. With one of his hands, Crouch was making a slow pushing pattern that guided them into constant movement, barely disturbing the still waters underneath, but the Captain's attention was on Harry. Crouch had been quiet on the way down to the boathouse, surrounding himself with a casual air in much the same effortless way that Cedric Diggory could manage.

"Everybody likes movies!" Crouch declared, when Harry did not answer. "Do you know what I love about movies? The cuts. Aren't they fascinating? It's what truly makes motion picture such a unique medium."

"I haven't really thought about it," Harry said, trying to make both his tone and his features as blank as possible.

"Well, you should!" Crouch said, with an easy smile. "Say we want to show the anguish of a man who's just lost his parents. Do we then take a wide shot, showing the emptiness of the field he's found them in? Or do we just show his face?"

The boat slowed down as Crouch used both his hands to form a picture frame around his own face.

"Do we show both? If so, which one do we start with? How quickly do we move from one to the other? Or do we not show it at all - maybe that's not what the story's about! In real life, you and I have to go through it all, from beginning to end, but with editing - well... It just has such great potential for building something _true_."

The boat had drifted to a stop now. They had to be close to the middle of the lake. From the castle they wouldn't be more than a speck of light. Harry watched the single little flame in the little lamp that Crouch had instructed him to light as they left the bright hallways of the school. It was a rather feeble companion against the sheer weight of the water that was all around them.

"Sorry to go on," Crouch said, shrugging. "That's why I love movies, anyway."

"I prefer books," Harry said.

Crouch groaned and then laughed good-naturedly. "Books are so very last century!"

* * *

There was a dock on the other side of the lake, so they arrived at a dark sharp incline rather than the bank that Harry remembered from his first year. There were prams and barges, floating and empty in the darkness. Disembarking at Crouch's request, Harry also found that there was a road that definitely hadn't been there when he and Hermione made the traditional trek through the woods on their first day. Ancient trees had been uprooted or burned and in their place was an even road that stretched all the way down to the town.

The satomobile that waited for them was unlike any that Harry had ever been inside. It was black and sleek and completely clean, despite the mud that was abundant by the side of the road, and it looked completely out of place in the middle of a forest. Crouch opened the unlocked backdoor and held it for Harry to get in before taking the front-seat and the wheel. Harry sat down gingerly on the luxurious leather seat as the engine came to life with a powerful thrum and headlamps flooded the forest with light. Wordlessly, Crouch set the car into motion, keeping them at a medium speed all the way down to Hogsmeade.

The lampposts that used to run on gas were now electrical, but that was not the biggest surprise Harry got as they rolled into town. There had only been one Hogsmeade weekend since the start of term, and Harry hadn't gone, so he couldn't be sure if the tower was completely new or if he'd missed it in the fog on the day he'd arrived back at Hogwarts. It certainly hadn't been there last year - it would have been impossible to miss.

The tower stood on a hill on the other side of the town and it stretched more than twice as tall as any other building. Made of steel or some other metal, so seemingly sleek and uniform, it was completely different from the stone towers of Hogwarts castle. Against the rustic and historic town of Hogsmeade, it looked like an ugly nail driven into the ground by some angry giant.

"Do you want to pop in and watch the latest reel?"

Harry looked away from the tower and caught Crouch's eye in the rear-view mirror. The man nodded out his side window, and Harry looked out at the small cinema that they were slowly rolling by.

"Why," Harry said, "would I want to do that?"

"Well," Crouch said, with a shrug. "You're in it."

There were a few people walking through town and a few satomobiles by the side of the road, but it was a weeknight and the many light-bulbs surrounding the cinema sign did not flash on and off as they usually did when a show was on.

"I don't think they're open."

Harry caught Crouch rolling his eyes in the mirror, but the Captain left the silence intact and sped the car up once again. Harry glanced over his shoulder at the cinema, trying to imagine his own image being projected for all to see in the shoddy little theatre hall. Then he thought of Republic City, where news reels were always shown before feature presentations, and he tried to imagine that same image being shown on those countless silver screens. He couldn't picture it at all.

From the moment he caught sight of it, there hadn't been any question in Harry's mind as to where they were heading. They left the town behind and drove uphill for a short while before arriving at the base of the tower. Crouch parked beside a few other cars that were of similar make, though none quite as fancy, and held the doors open for Harry.

The spartan lobby of the tower was lit by cold electric light that blinded and seeped its way into every corner. A radio was blaring loud music and at the front desk there sat a man wearing a grey suit with the cogwheel of Future Industries emblazoned on its breast pocket. Crouch exchanged a nod with the man and then led Harry through a door to a spiral staircase made of metal.

On the third floor they entered a room the size of a large broom closet, where a woman in another suit sat surrounded by a large switchboard that curved its way around her desk. Headphones with an attached microphone hung neglected over the side of her chair and the woman was swaying gently to the sound of another radio, which was tuned to the same channel as downstairs. Harry recognized the merry jig as 'Skeleton in the closet'. The woman looked quite bored but perked up when she spotted Crouch.

"Captain!" she exclaimed, lowering the volume on the radio.

"Jin!" Crouch exclaimed in response. "How are you this evening?"

"Better now you're here," she said in a teasing voice, and Crouch smiled his most charming smile. "It's slow, slow, slow," she added in a more serious tone. "No more than two or three a day, and they're all from the bar."

"It'll pick up," Crouch protested. "It's just that no one's installed yet."

"If they ever _will_." Jin raised her eyebrows sceptically.

"Don't worry; they just don't know they need it yet. It _is_ the future, remember?"

He poked at the Future Industries logo on her chest and she swatted his finger away, smiling.

"Are we good to go?" Crouch asked, looking at the switchboard.

The woman called Jin managed to tear her eyes away from Crouch for a short moment to peer curiously at Harry before cracking her knuckles and turning to the switchboard. "Are you kidding?" she said, and winked. "This is the most excitement I've had all week." She plopped her headphones on, fingers moving expertly to connect cables from here to there on the board.

"Come along, Mister Potter," Crouch said and led Harry back to the stairs and up another floor.

"She's got good hands, that one," Crouch said, conversationally.

Harry didn't comment.

They reached a circular room, several floors up. There was a phone, black and shiny, on a small high table in the middle of the room. The placement felt strange - as if it were a sculpture on a pedestal rather than just a usual everyday rotary dial-phone. Against the walls there were large machines that Harry could not guess the purpose of, although they had needles bumping up and down, showing audio being transferred. The room itself was silent and there were no windows, just a bright electric light that destroyed any and all shadows.

Harry turned expectantly to Crouch. The man just stood there.

"Is this it, then?" Harry asked.

"This is it."

"We're not getting on a train or something? Or a flying bison?"

"No need."

Harry glanced at the phone. "This tower is a telephone exchange," he stated.

"They do that here," Crouch agreed. "But it's mostly a radio tower."

"Explains their good reception," Harry said, thinking of the crystal clear audio on the radios downstairs.

"Nowadays," Crouch said, smiling to himself, "you'll get reception like that anywhere in the world. Do you have any idea how many towers we've built in the past ten years?"

"Are you a construction worker now?" Not understanding Crouch's game was putting Harry on edge, making him feel like he was being cornered, and instead of backing down he found himself getting offensive.

"We, the Republic," Crouch clarified, still smiling. "Do you know why we built this one right here next to Hogwarts? It's so our commentators on the tournament tasks can be heard clearly and instantly all over the world. How does that sound?"

Harry looked at a needle flopping up and down on machine and thought of Moody, describing the railways as a net to trap the world.

_This is the true spiderweb..._

"Grand."

The phone began to ring.

Harry looked at Crouch, who raised his eyebrows at him.

"It's for you."

Harry let a few more rings echo through the room before striding over and gently plucking up the receiver, making a point of turning his back on Crouch. He put the handset to his ear and over a slight hissing noise he could hear faint voices talking on the other end. He couldn't make out any words, but the voices sounded angry. Harry cleared his throat.

"Hello?"

"Harry? Harry!"

He recognized the voice, but not the tone. Even through the tinny little speaker it sounded too warm.

"Yes?"

"Harry, you brilliant little bastard!"

The voice was happy - laughing, even - and Harry was reminded forcibly of Ron Weasley. He ran a hand through his jet black hair, his other hand clutching the phone tight.

"Dad?"

"Who else? Have you forgotten where you came from already?"

James Potter kept speaking merrily, but Harry couldn't quite connect. That voice belonged to a different reality that wasn't supposed to blend into Hogwarts.

"Is she there?" Harry asked, cutting James off.

"Uh, yeah," James said, sounding a little disappointed, but only for a second. "I'll hand you over, son, just wanted to say that I'm proud of you!"

Harry's hand clenched the receiver tighter still.

There were sounds of movement on the other end of the line, and then another familiar voice.

"Hello?"

"Mum." Harry relaxed his grip.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Harry said.

There was an incredulous sniff from the other side of the line, and it was such a familiar sound - though distorted and warped through countless wires - that it collapsed the hundreds of miles between them in an instant. In a sense Harry had always seen Hogwarts and their little apartment as two separate homes, and the one had always been left behind when he entered the other. Now the two worlds came crashing together, and suddenly the idea of himself up on the silver screen was a reality. It gave him a headache.

Since Harry could practically see Lily Potter rolling her eyes, he added with as much sincerity as he could: "Really, I'm okay. How are you?" He glanced over his shoulder, where Crouch was leaning in to examine one of the machines, outwardly not paying any attention to the conversation. "Where are you? Have they taken you somewhere?"

"No?" Lily said, sounding a little confused. "We're home. They told us to expect a phone call from you tonight."

"Oh," Harry said. "Okay."

"A lot of work goes into a call like this," Lily said. "Someone wants us to talk."

"Yeah," Harry said, and then he was silent. So was she. After thirty expensive seconds of silence he heard her suppressing a giggle on the other end, and his own lip twitched into a smile. "So," he said, finally. "He seems happy."

"Yes," Lily said, ruefully. "Very happy." Then she added, more tentatively: "How about you?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that if this is what you want, then… I want you to know that I'm always proud of you, no matter what you do, okay?"

"Okay?"

"And I want you to be careful, Harry."

"Yes."

"And I love you."

Harry said nothing, suddenly acutely aware of Crouch's presence behind him.

"Harry?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "You too."

"Do you - no, you don't want to talk to him again, do you?"

"Not really."

"Okay. Um... Goodbye, Harry. Be safe. I love you."

He heard James in the background, saying, "Wait, I wanted to -" before the line went dead with a 'click'.

Harry hung the phone up slowly, his mind working a million miles a minute as he was thrust back into the moment; back into that room with Crouch. Why had this conversation been arranged? It had been a bit uncomfortable, but not entirely unpleasant. If the Captain was hoping that James Potter's encouragement would be enough to sway Harry into competing, then he wasn't as clever as Harry had thought. For a long time Harry had wanted to make his father proud, but now James Potter's words had left him with nothing but resentment bubbling in his gut. The desire to impress his father had burned away in Phoenix Hall.

"They don't know that I'm not competing," Harry observed aloud. They hadn't put that in their news reels, obviously, because they hadn't accepted it yet.

"Why didn't you tell them?"

_Yes, why didn't you?_

Had he just been in shock? Or was he not as free from that desire as he thought?

"They'll find out soon enough," Harry said. "First task's only in three weeks, right? And I won't be there."

To Harry's surprise, Crouch didn't protest. He simply tilted his head and grimaced.

"Fair enough."

"Is it?" Harry asked, trying to suppress the sudden anger.

"Of course," Crouch said, with a sigh. "This is a free Republic, after all."

Harry was nowhere near convinced. In fact, this approach was far more unsettling than the demands Harry had been expecting, and he could feel himself tensing up as if they were back on the boat.

"Your father is a good Auror, as I'm sure you know," Crouch mused. "He hasn't come very far in all his years there, but a good Auror all the same. When it comes to advancement, it unfortunately comes down to how you are perceived, and who you know..."

"Yes, I've noticed... Captain."

Crouch let out a huff of air that was something like a laugh, but Harry thought - with satisfaction - that he detected some irritation.

"And then there's your mother..." Crouch continued. "Are you aware of what she does? I only ask because I'm not too sure myself."

"She's a scientist," Harry answered stiffly.

"Very broad term, that. But I'm told she does important things."

"Are you?"

"She is employed by Avada Enterprises, I believe, and Avada Enterprises gets over ninety percent of its funding from government contracts. Did you know that?"

"You've done your homework."

"That makes one of us!" Crouch wagged a finger at Harry and grinned. Then he grew serious. "I know that we're not friends, but perhaps you'd like some friendly advice?"

Harry nodded. He could feel himself relaxing a tiny bit - all this babbling about his parents was unnerving simply because he didn't understand what Crouch was getting at. Now, undoubtedly, there would be some point engineered to make Harry change his mind.

"A few days ago," Crouch said, "you had a violent outburst in front of several key members of the government, including your father's former boss, not to mention our visiting dignitaries... Have you not considered how this will reflect on your family?"

Harry did not answer. He wondered idly why Crouch did not say 'my father' when talking about Crouch Senior.

"And you say that you're not competing..." Crouch shook his head sadly. "You see this as making some sort of stand, perhaps, but to most people you will look like a petulant child, throwing a wrench into an enterprise that is very highly valued by the people who pay your mother and father's wages. The people who own the house that your parents live in."

Harry wondered if Crouch was aware of how little this speech was affecting him.

"Why can't you see that this is a mistake?" Harry asked. "Hogwarts was only supposed to have one champion, right? So something obviously went wrong."

"It's the Tournament of Elements, Mister Potter. Perhaps it was always meant to have four competitors."

"So pick an airbender, then," Harry said, thinking of Cho Chang. "You'd have one of each. It would make a lot more sense."

"If it were up to me," Crouch said with a shrug and a sigh, "this would all go rather differently. Remember, I _do_ like your father. But we all have a place..."

_What's _that_ supposed to mean?_

"Not to be too blunt about it," Crouch said, watching Harry's blank expression, "but again, remember your family. If you keep on like this, who knows what could happen to them?"

It hit Harry like a cold knife sliding into his back.

_'Say we want to show the anguish of a man who's just lost his parents.'_

And he remembered what Moody had said about subtle men. Would Crouch really - ?

_Yes._

The Captain wanted Harry to suspect, and to feel uneasy, but Harry did not suspect - he knew - he bloody well _knew_!

The strangest emotion rushed through his body. It was relief - pure and simple. It flooded through him, washing away an anxiety that he hadn't even known was there. Because he'd been right, all along. He wasn't crazy. He didn't know how, but he'd been _right_.

Harry turned and looked Crouch in the eye.

_I see you, you bastard._

"Do we understand one another, Mister Potter?"

_'Aurors don't make threats - we give __warnings__. Usually just one.'_

"Yes," Harry said, and it was true. "I understand you perfectly."

_Murderer._

Crouch looked pointedly at the 'Cedric Diggory' badge attached to the front of Harry's robe.

_Who is Harry Potter?_

Someone who prefers to stay hidden... but that option had been taken from him - stripped away like Moody liked to take his bending. So what was left? Harry Potter was someone who would do anything to protect his family. He had always known that, even though the list of who he considered family was very short. Hermione was on it, and so was his mother, and after that he did not know.

But meeting Crouch's eye, he saw a dark promise there, and it could be called a suggestion or a warning by people who minced words, but it was none of those things - it was a threat.

_Harry Potter does not take kindly to threats._

'Don't draw attention to yourself', Moody had said, and he'd been right. Harry's rebellion could not be so blatant, or he would be crushed without hesitation. But Harry Potter could be patient, and Harry Potter could be clever, and just as the airbender will appear to follow when she actually leads, he could dance closer with a knife in his hand.

Harry removed the badge from his robes and clicked its needle back into place, so it wouldn't sting the Captain. He held it out.

He'd do what he had to do. He'd play the part and dance the dance. But as he met Crouch's gaze he made a promise of his own, and he realized that he had told Anthony Goldstein the truth.

_Harry Potter pays his debts._

Crouch took the badge and smiled his crooked smile and, for the first time ever, Harry smiled back.

_Game on._

* * *

**Author's Note**

**Thank you for reading. Reviews are appreciated.**

**- The Sorting Cat**


	13. Playing With Fire

**Author's Note**

**I haven't been responding to as many reviews as I'd like - I've moved, and I'm blaming the cartoonishly slow internet that I now have. But know that your reviews are still very much appreciated (especially the ones that bring up the actual events of the chapter).**

**Despite the title, this chapter doesn't quite reach the first task, but it's still pretty eventful. Hope you like it.**

* * *

**Harry Potter: The Last Avatar**

**Book 1: Water**

**Chapter 13: Playing With Fire**

Viktor Krum had sharp features, a slightly curved nose, thick black eyebrows and a no-nonsense jawline. Despite the fact that he wasn't all that handsome or muscular or tall, there was something in the way he held himself and looked straight into the camera - face expressionless - that gave him a commanding presence. The flame-shaped headpiece that held his topknot in place and the royal red and gold robes (black and white in the picture, but striking all the same) proclaimed him for what he was - the pride of the Fire Nation.

Fleur Delacour wore a traditional southern Water Tribe dress which was quite modest but which still failed completely at hiding her many curves. Harry thought that her hair had looked better on the day she arrived, when it flowed free in the wind, but now that it was trapped in tight uncomfortable-looking braids she painted the perfect picture of a beautiful Water Tribe princess.

Cedric Diggory, though humble to a fault, was the best that Hogwarts had to offer, and he looked it. His wide frame filled the space between Krum and Fleur quite neatly, and his handsome features looked as if they'd been chiselled from rock. Alone out of all the competitors he wore the uniform he'd been given, and it fit him like a glove. It mixed the yellow of Hufflepuff with the green of the Earth Kingdom, and though there was nothing too protective about it, it had the _feel_ of armour, and it made him look like a dashing soldier, ready for war.

And then there was the little kid. He was small enough to be easily overlooked, but his placement in the lower half of the picture unbalanced the whole composition. It looked like someone at the Daily Prophet was likely to get fired for not shooing him out of frame before snapping the photograph. The impression of displacement was enhanced by his school uniform and by the expression on the child's face - he looked like a deer caught in the headlights, eyes nearly popping out at the camera.

_Fucking Fleur Delacour..._

A high-pitched laugh cut through Harry's ruminations. He looked up to see two first year girls approaching the Gryffindor table. They were yawning and talking in high pitched voices that echoed through the nearly empty hall, but when they spotted Harry they yelped and hurried past, going to the very other end of the table before sitting down.

_And the peaceful part of the day is over..._

It was still dark outside the windows of the Great Hall. Apart from Harry and the two first years there were only a few Slytherins and a couple of teachers in the hall. Soon, Ron Weasley would be there though, and Harry wouldn't be able to shake him and his crew for the rest of the day. It still bothered him that everyone stared and talked behind his back; but that annoyance had faded somewhat while Weasley's continuous presence only became more and more grating.

Harry shook his head and took a slurp of tea. He was staying away from coffee in hopes that it would help him sleep. The dream had not returned; he was simply too _antsy_ to sleep. Too restless. He'd been outmanoeuvred and backed into a corner and the need to do _something_ about it was with him all day, so it wasn't strange that the restlessness followed and pulled him back to reality whenever he dared to attempt more than a few hours sleep. Again, Harry looked down at the newspaper in front of him and remembered the damn 'press conference', which had done nothing at all to improve his mood.

There had been nothing as palpable as the tugging sensation that caused him to trip up the first time he was in the Prince's proximity, but something about Viktor Krum made Harry's hair stand on end, quite literally, so he'd moved over and stood beside Fleur Delacour. In retrospect it would have been better to stay with the Prince. As if he hadn't already been very aware of how close his shoulder was to her left breast, she had whispered to him, just seconds before the camera flashed:

"What happened to 'fuck the rules'?"

Harry put his teacup down on the newspaper, obscuring the child in the picture, and leaned in to examine Fleur Delacour's face. It was expressionless but intense, and standing on either side of Cedric, who was smiling his easy smile, she and Krum mirrored one another almost perfectly.

If Harry would have imagined this girl saying the word 'fuck' he would have expected her to handle it squeamishly - as if it was an unpleasant insect that needed to be removed. Instead the word seemed like an old friend of hers, rolling off her tongue much more easily than Harry himself had ever said it. She'd been dressed in a way to make her seem almost _demure_, but looking into her eyes - or rather, the tiny dots of ink that recreated her eyes, since it had been impossible for him to meet her eye after the camera flashed - he could see a definite ferocity.

_This is a girl who squashes bugs._

The real reason he was fighting down a blush in the photograph was that there was something overtly sexual about the way she said the word. Like she had proper experience with it, and not just as an expletive... But then, there was something blatantly sensual about everything Fleur Delacour did - every move she made drew and directed the eye to certain parts of her physique. Harry had watched her patterns of movement and wondered how much of it was natural and how much was practiced.

When the reporter-lady had grabbed hold of Cedric Diggory and dragged him off for an interview, and Madame Maxime insisted that the photographer take a few shots of Krum and Delacour together, Harry had taken the opportunity to slip away quietly.

Harry picked his teacup up and took a sip, but spit it back when he realized the tea had gone cool while he abandoned his breakfast to stare down at the paper. Concentrating for a moment, he transferred heat into the hand holding the cup, but rather than just warming it up he accidentally brought the liquid to a boil. His glasses steamed up for a moment and he made an irritated noise as he put the cup down, waiting for it to cool again. This time he placed the cup over the image of Delacour, to keep himself from staring.

_Restless._

He needed to do something. Fortunately, he had something planned.

* * *

"I don't know where I am."

"You're in my office, Potter."

"I haven't had a proper duel in months," Harry continued, ignoring Moody's response and strapping his goggles into place, tinting the familiar office with a familiar green. "I have no way of knowing where I stand in relation to my peers."

Pulling a flame from the air was as easy as breathing - the fire was eager, and it came quickly, ready to grow. Moody sat cross-legged on the floor on the other end of the room, right by the boxes of weapons. He spared Harry and his flame a glance but then went back to cleaning one of his daggers, mucking about with a piece of cloth as if the blade was covered with blood and not already spotless.

"But I don't have to fight my peers, do I?" Harry's bare feet on the stone floor sent a chill up his legs as he entered the duelling circle. "Thanks to you and your friend Barty Crouch I'll have to go up against three people with several more years of experience - three people considered the elite of the best schools of bending in the world."

Harry stopped in the middle of the room, keeping a fair amount of distance between them. He was very aware of the stones of the castle all around them, all of which could be called upon and commanded by Moody. The thought almost made him smile.

"I don't intend to do so unprepared."

"And what do you intend to do, exactly?" Moody was looking down the length of the blade with his one working eye, outwardly not paying much attention to Harry.

"I intend for us to duel properly, with fire and earth," Harry said, and when Moody still did not look up he added: "I intend to _not let you_ block my chi."

Moody snorted, but Harry noted that the old man had shifted so that his foot - the one made of flesh - was pressed against the floor. "Do you recall choosing this blade?" Moody asked, and he clicked the sheath into place, turning the knife into an innocent-looking ten inch pole.

"I recall that I threw it at you," Harry said, with some satisfaction.

"Me too." Moody gave a somewhat maniacal grin, and then threw the knife.

Harry had been ready for an attack, but instead it was a lazy underhand throw, and without really thinking he snatched the knife out of the air with his right hand, keeping the fire alive in his left.

"It's time you learned how to use it," Moody said.

"I don't have time to play with your toys."

Moody sighed and stood up with a grunt of effort. Harry readied himself for an attack, but Moody only turned his back and began digging through the metal chest behind him, finally emerging with another knife, this one slightly larger and in a simpler leather sheath.

"We need to go through some basics first," Moody said. "For hand-to-hand you knew enough firebending stances to get started, but for this you need new patterns. Let's look at your grip, first, because it's all wrong..."

Harry looked down at the knife in his hand and then back up at Moody. "You realize I just picked this thing at random? I don't actually want to master knife-fighting."

"Trying to 'master' anything is usually idiotic, but you should have a basic familiarity with all of these." He gestured at his miniature armoury.

"Even the one with the spiky balls on long chains?" Harry raised an eyebrow.

"_Especially_ the one with the spiky balls on long chains." Moody raised both.

Harry knew that he was letting himself get derailed. All the annoyance of the past weeks welled up in him and he, again, felt as if he was fighting thin air - whenever he was striking back, his opponents had always already moved.

And so he tossed the knife aside, ignoring Moody's affronted look as the engraved case clattered away into a corner. Harry started tossing the flame back and forth between his hands.

"What if I just throw this ball of fire at you, though?"

He hadn't expected Moody to agree to fight him, but he _had _expected Moody to try and chi-block him anyway, and then Harry would have resisted, and they'd have end up duelling with fire and earth after all. That wasn't happening, though.

_So now, we improvise..._

"You asked where you were," Moody said, pointing at Harry with his knife. "Well, like I said - you're in my office. Where my rules apply, remember? Now go pick up that knife."

"Two weeks until the first task," Harry said, making no move towards the knife, but instead creating another ball of fire and spinning his hands to move both of them in a small circular orbit above his hands. "I have no idea what it is, but I'm going to have to face those other three sooner or later. How am I supposed to be ready for a real fight if you won't let me train? I haven't fought someone with bending in months!"

Harry was glad to see that Moody was watching him closely, maybe even warily. The spinning fireballs reached a high enough velocity that he could stop making a circle with his hands for every orbit and instead he spun his hands in a smoothening pattern, one above and one below the circle of flame. The WOOSH of their passing was turning into a steady whirring, and if he released his grip at just the right time they would go flying at Moody at a very high speed.

"I'll make you a deal," Moody said. "Pick up the knife and I'll put you back in Duelling Class."

Harry did his best not to show his surprise, but he almost lost his hold on the spinning flame.

"You wanted to know where you stand against your peers, right?" Moody asked. "I'll put you in half a dozen duels, if you like!"

The buzzing circle of flame was starting to grow, and Harry knew that if he didn't stop, it could leap out of his control. Still, he didn't know if he wanted to accept Moody's offer or just hurl the flame at the Professor and have at it. He hadn't done any heavy firebending for months - he hadn't dared to, after Phoenix Hall - but Moody could stop him if he started to go too far. Would any of his classmates be able to?

_Don't you want to find out?_

Harry reversed the movements of his hands until the circle of fire once again turned into two spinning fireballs, and then he grabbed at each and opened his hand, dispelling them into thin air.

"That was chaotic," Moody said, walking towards Harry.

Moody put his own knife in his belt and with a pulling motion he made the knife that Harry had thrown aside fling itself through the air and into his hand. With the way he was advancing, Harry almost thought that Moody would stab him, but instead the man grabbed Harry's hand and placed the knife in it, his large hands nimbly manipulating Harry's grip.

"We're not going for mastery," Moody said. "I don't bother mastering things… A swordfighter without a sword can be more defenceless than an untrained man. It's about extending and contracting yourself. Anything is a weapon in the right hands. That's the thing - these are still the wrong hands..." When Harry was holding the knife firmly, though not clutching it as tightly as before, Moody stepped back with a satisfied grunt.

"Now hold your arm out," Moody said, making his own arm straight and pointing his knife to the side, "and don't change your grip."

And then they just stood there, facing one another, each with one arm held out. Looking up at Moody was like looking into a bent and grotesque funhouse mirror.

"I doubt you trained your Aurors to use weapons," Harry said after a few minutes, when he started to feel the strain in his arm, "and you didn't chi-block them either..."

"Well," Moody said, looking at him sharply, "do you _want_ to be an Auror?"

"No," Harry said, very firmly.

"Well then," Moody said, as if that settled it.

He slapped the side of Harry's hand, which had gone slightly slack, and Harry reaffirmed his grip. Harry looked at the knife in his hand, blade hidden under beautiful engravings, and he wondered, not for the first time, what Moody was trying to turn him into.

* * *

"No, Mister Potter, that's not it at all!"

Harry breathed in a cold gulp of air. He reversed the spin of his hands and slowed his circle down. The sun was bright above, making him sweat in his duelling robes and feeding his flame, and he had to make an effort to dispel the fire.

"What was wrong with it?" Harry asked, making an effort not to snap at Professor McGonagall, who was marching towards him over the rocky ground, deep red robes fluttering in the wind.

"It was created from smaller components," McGonagall said, her sharp tone telling him that he was not doing a good job of concealing his irritation. "Two spinning flames can indeed create the shape of a circle, but it's liable to get out of control, and what's more it has nothing at all to do with what we're attempting today."

She raised her hands and pulled a circle of fire into existence. Unlike Harry's creation, it was only a foot or two in diameter and she did not spin her hands around it; she simply held a hand at each side, balancing it and maintaining its integrity, even as the cold wind tried to bend it out of shape.

"You must visualize, Mister Potter," McGonagall said, "make sure that you can see the shape clearly in your mind before attempting to bring it into being - as a single cohesive flame."

"Yes, Professor," Harry said, angry at himself for even attempting the same trick he'd pulled in Moody's office.

"Mister Potter," McGonagall said, with an air of much-tried patience, "this is not a simple technique. I would not expect you to manage it on your first try. I am simply clarifying that you were on the wrong track."

"Yes, Professor," Harry said, feeling even more annoyed.

"Perhaps the circle is not the right shape for you," McGonagall said. She shrunk her own circle until her hands were clasped together and the fire was gone, then she swept off to help Dean Thomas, who was holding a hand up to get her attention.

The world turned colder as a cloud covered the sun, and it grew colder still as a gust of wind flew at Harry, making his robes and tie flap every which way. Harry wondered if they'd still be having Firebending Class outside when the snow came, but all the same, he was glad for the cold. He'd never hated the sun, as Hermione had sometimes joked, but now he fully understood the appeal. Even though days were getting shorter, he felt invigorated every time he stepped into the sunlight.

_Ever since the forest..._

He closed his eyes, attempting again to 'visualize' a shape, but instead the image of Luna, thin and drained, swam up in his mind. He knew that he should seek her out and try to help her, make sure that she didn't fall any further into whatever pit she was digging for herself, but the truth was that he didn't want to have another conversation with her.

He could admit that he wanted to forget. After all, he'd seen a huge swarm of creatures, many times larger than himself; erupt from out of his own body. It was plain that such a thing was impossible. But there had been such great pain, and afterwards he'd been a changed man, so he knew that some of it had been real.

_But what would someone else have seen if they'd been in the forest?_

He could have asked Trelawney or gone digging through old and musty books about the spirits and ghosts, but the truth was that he did not want to know. And besides, Luna seemed able to summon up dark dangerous feelings simply by touching him. Last time she had stirred up a great whirlpool of darkness that left him with an uneasy feeling for days, without having the slightest idea why. So he did not go looking for her. He felt slightly guilty about it but, after all, he had his own problems to deal with.

Either way, ever since going into Hogsmeade with Crouch, being in the sun only made him frustrated. It was stoking a fire inside him that he couldn't find a release for. He was very much looking forward to Duelling Class.

"Well, _I_ thought it was good, Harry."

Harry opened his eyes and found Lavender Brown, looking sympathetic.

"Cheers," Harry said, turning away.

"Hey, Harry," Lavender whispered, glancing over her shoulder and then stepping closer to him, "did you and Hermione have a fight or something?"

"What?"

He looked over at Hermione, who was sitting on a rock with her legs crossed and her eyes closed. At the start of the lesson McGonagall had told them to meditate until a basic geometric shape sprang to mind, and Hermione was the only one still at that stage.

"I said," Lavender hissed, "did you and Hermione have a fight?" She stepped closer once again, and Harry would have taken a step backwards if she hadn't put her hand on his arm.

"Nope."

Lavender raised an eyebrow sceptically. "Usually, you two are like yack yack yack," her free hand opened and closed, miming a prattling conversation, "but you've barely said a word to each other in, like, forever!"

"Well," Harry said, thinking that there was some truth to it, "that's only because we're not comfortable making jokes about you people to your faces."

Lavender laughed, loud and shrill and fake, and slapped his shoulder playfully.

Harry looked at Lavender Brown. She was conventionally very attractive, and the way she walked and talked and touched your arm was all engineered to remind everyone of this. Unlike Fleur Delacour, however, there was no doubt at all in his mind that this was due to practice. Probably she tried out different walks and laughs in the mirror.

"Lavender. Come help me."

Parvati was there, dark eyes blazing.

"Help you?" Lavender said, "but -"

But Parvati had already grabbed Lavender's arm and was tugging her away across the field. Harry wanted to catch Parvati's eye, to send her a grateful look, but she didn't look back.

McGonagall had told them that they were free to spread out, 'if it will help you focus', and seeing as how Weasley was likely to come up to him soon, Harry headed towards a deserted part of the duelling grounds where formations of rock would hide him from the rest of class.

Over the past week Harry had tried his best to ignore Ron. This had done nothing at all to discourage the redhead - Ron's only response was to engage Hermione in conversation, and to be likeable and charming in her general direction. This, in turn, led Lavender Brown to approach Harry more often. It was always inane and semi-flirtatious and as far as Harry could decipher, it was done in an attempt to make Ron jealous - or, rather, in an attempt to make Ron stake his claim on Lavender. It was an arrangement that left no one at all happy, except possibly Ron, who seemed impossible to upset these days.

That was probably the reason Hermione was taking so long to meditate before attempting her shape - as long as she sat there, Weasley wouldn't bother her.

"Hey, Harry!"

_Like clockwork..._

"Please excuse me," Harry said, not needing to turn to know who was pursuing him, "I have to go set fire to something."

"Harry! I have to show you this!"

Harry thought he could probably out-run Weasley, but he wasn't supposed to do that sort of thing anymore, so he stopped and turned to watch Weasley walk up and pull something from a pocket. When he'd first spotted the 'POTTER STINKS' buttons, Ron told Harry not to worry - they would 'get better buttons'. Now, Ron slipped a badge into Harry's hand, and Harry stared down at it in horror.

'POTTER FOR PRESIDENT'

_He's trying to get me killed..._

"Now, I know what you're thinking!"

"Do you?" Harry asked, trying to put as much acid as possible into his voice.

"But they made 'Cedric For Chairman' badges, so it makes sense. President trumps Chairman!"

"What happens inside your head when Binns starts talking?" Harry asked, clenching the button tight in his hand. "Is it just a buzzing sound, or what?"

"Hm?"

"Grindelwald!" Harry hissed, holding the badge up close to Ron's face. "He's the only president we've ever had, Weasley!"

"Well, yeah," Ron said, as though that wasn't _really_ a problem, "it's a bit 'on the line', but it certainly makes a statement, doesn't it?"

"And connecting me to a mass-murderer is a good idea, because...?"

"Power is power," Ron said, putting on a voice as if he was speaking a common adage.

Harry closed his fist around the badge and tried to walk away, but Ron followed.

"Grindelwald was just misunderstood!" Ron exclaimed. "Just like you!"

In one movement Harry turned and threw a ball of fire at the ground, simultaneously destroying the badge and scorching the earth where Ron was about to tread.

"Mister Potter!" McGonagall's voice called out. She was practically on the other side of the field, but _of course_ she'd still seen. "Come here, please!"

"I've got four dozen of these!" Ron complained, letting Harry walk away, finally. "They weren't free, you know! I'm handing these out, Harry!"

As he walked over to McGonagall, who would undoubtedly deduct points for 'playing with fire', as she called it, he looked over his shoulder to see Ron going up and talking at Hermione, disturbing her meditation. Harry clenched his fist but kept walking, looking forward more and more to Duelling Class.

* * *

"...and Potter and Patil, I think. The fiery one."

After so many lessons spent in the background it was strange for Harry to hear his name called out by Moody as he listed the first combatants of the day. He glanced over at Parvati. Honestly, he wouldn't have picked her for his first duel if he'd had a choice. Defeating her would not be difficult, but that fact in itself made him a bit uncomfortable, considering how little they'd spoken since his name came out of that goblet.

When Moody stopped talking, Harry moved towards Parvati through the crowd. Hermione wasn't present - her only explanation had been that she needed to talk to McGonagall - and Lavender was a terrible runner, so Harry thought he might exchange a few words with Parvati while the class ran its customary warm up laps around the field.

"Potter, go get some more purified water, would you? I have a feeling we may need it."

Harry looked warily at Moody, but the Professor had already turned away and was barking at the class to get a move on, so Harry detached himself from the group and jogged off towards one of the doors that led into the intestines of the arena. The new stadium contained a labyrinth of changing rooms, showers, storerooms and long stark corridors, but Harry knew his way around since he'd been sent on similar assignments by Moody before, to mask the fact that he wasn't participating as much as the other students.

On his way across the field Harry looked up at the stands and noted that there were many more students present than usual. There was sometimes a stray student or two watching other classes do Duelling, but _now_ there were well over fifty people spread out in clumps throughout the stands. Along with the regular Hogwarts uniforms Harry spotted the blue and purple robes of Beauxbatons and the blood red of Durmstrang - two groups that had sat separately from all the rest, and from each other.

_Why would they - ?_

And with a jolt he realized the truth. Many of the Hogwarts students would have come to watch the visitors - since they took their classes and meals on their respective vessels it was not easy to get a closer look at them - but Krum and Delacour would be in those groups of red and blue, and they would have come to see _him_.

_They're scoping out the competition._

It was a thought that should have made him apprehensive but instead he only felt a thrill.

* * *

Electric lights flickered to life, revealing row upon row of metal shelves.

It was probably Professor Hagrid's fault that Harry pictured a cramped mess when he imagined a storeroom, but this one was the complete opposite. The room was large, though with a low ceiling, and there was plenty of open space between the shelves. Everything was neat and clean and labelled, and he had no trouble at all finding the well-stocked shelf of immaculate glass bottles filled with pure water.

With two large and heavy bottles he was about to turn back towards the exit when the lights, which he knew were on a dodgy timer, went out, plunging the sealed off room into complete darkness. His instinct was to pull a flame from the air, but his arms were full, and should he put down both the bottles, or - ?

_Heads up!_

Glass shattered against the floor as Harry turned towards the door, summoning a flame with just enough spare time to see something big coming at him fast. It collided - not with a huge amount of force, but instead with a familiar series of light taps. For a second all his muscles locked up, then a final touch had him falling to his knees, onto the wet floor.

"Bastard..." Harry croaked as footsteps told him his attacker was heading for the door.

"This bloody light is a nightmare," Moody said, flipping the switch and making the cold lights flicker back to life. "One of these days, someone's going to get killed."

"_Why_?" Harry got to his feet, checking his wet hands and knees for cuts from the broken glass, but only finding minor scrapes. He didn't even try to summon a flame - by now the faint hollow feeling was familiar enough for him to know.

"What are you complaining about?" Moody asked, walking back towards him across the room. "You said you wanted to fight people with bending - and you will!"

"I meant that _I_ should have my bending, as you very well know!" Harry snapped. "You'd have me go out and make a fool of myself? Krum and Delacour are both here!"

"You stupid boy…"

Moody wore his trench-coat, something he never did when they were fighting, so figuring that his mobility was impaired; Harry aimed all his strength into a kick at Moody's leg. It might have worked, except that he was driven by anger and frustration, and his focus was off. Moody took the blow without even attempting to block and without giving any reaction, then grabbed Harry's leg and shoved him backwards, hard.

Harry slammed against the shelf of bottles, but it was heavy and hardly budged while he crumpled to the ground. A second later he was back on his feet, but the floor was already rippling underneath him. With a grinding sound, the floor built itself into a wave, making all the shelves hobble precariously, and then it froze, creating a wall between the two of them. Harry brought his fist back, running on instinct, but he stopped himself just in time. There would be no fire to help him topple this wall.

"Yes, good luck with that," Moody said grimly, and he shook his head in disgust. "You want to go out there and shine! Don't you know that you should never show your cards if you can help it?"

Harry gritted his teeth. Of course he could see the sense in keeping his opponents ignorant about what he could do, but the reason he'd confronted Moody in his office was that he - _Harry himself_ - didn't know either! He needed to fight - both to figure out where he was and because he bloody well _wanted to_. If he went out and duelled his classmates while unable to bend he'd undoubtedly get beaten up, and he'd had more than enough practice at that.

_And Krum and Delacour are not my real enemies..._

"They might have let you slip away if you hadn't blown up that wall. I hope you know that!"

Harry looked up sharply at Moody's face, which only just stuck up over the top of the wall.

"That's right," Moody said. "That, right there, was showmanship. A nasty habit..."

"Oh," Harry said, "you're one to talk! Mister 'Eyepatch? No, just bring me the biggest scariest glass eye you got!'"

Moody let out a gruff laugh. "So? Maybe I speak from experience..."

The wall collapsed in on itself and reformed into a stone floor once again, though looking thoroughly dishevelled with many new cracks running through it. Moody's metal foot crunched the broken glass into dust as he stepped towards Harry, who jumped aside. But the Professor merely grabbed four bottles of water, two in each hand, and hobbled off towards the door.

"What if," Harry called after him, "I just tell everyone the truth when they ask me why I'm not throwing fire back at them? 'Oh, I've just had my chi blocked! By who? Oh, Professor Moody, of course! You mean he doesn't do that to all the other little boys?'"

"Clean your mess up before you leave," Moody said from the doorway, and Harry was left fuming in a puddle of water sprinkled with shards of broken glass as the timer went 'click' and, once again, the lights went out.

* * *

Harry slammed to the ground with enough force to knock the remaining wind out of him - and to send a cloud of dust rushing up into the air. He lifted his head to confirm that he had indeed landed outside the white line of gravel and then let it thump back to the ground, feeling profoundly relieved. He stayed down, listening to the sounds of battle and waiting for his heartbeat to slow to something like a regular pace.

Below the sounds of shifting earth and the crackle of water being frozen, he caught the light sound of bare feet approaching him, and he opened his eyes to see a green-tinted Parvati Patil looking down at him with a very hard look in her eye, her dark skin flushed with exertion and anger.

_She really is very pretty..._

"Don't play with me, Harry."

With that, she stomped off. Harry made no move to get up, because despite what Parvati might think, he'd never been through a more taxing duel in his life.

At her first attack he'd brought his hands up to block her fireball before realizing what the hell he was doing, and diving aside. He'd spent a lot of time chi-blocked in Moody's office, but they'd been doing hand-to-hand combat, and even if Moody cheated to move his metal foot, Harry had never in his life had a ball of fire flung at him when he had no way of stopping it. If he hadn't been learning airbender movements over the last few weeks he'd have been toast. For the first time Harry understood what it would be like for a non-bender and to come up against this power.

_How would a non-bender feel, just walking through Diagon?_

The rest of the duel went in a similar way, with Harry avoiding all of Parvati's attacks as she grew increasingly frustrated with his refusal to fight back.

Towards the end Harry managed to get close enough that they were trading blows, and for a moment he had the upper hand, before she kicked a wave of fire along the ground, forcing him to retreat. Not long after that, Parvati had flung her final fireball, which Harry managed to avoid but which struck a boulder just where he'd been, making it explode and sending Harry flying through the air.

Their duel hadn't even been very long. Elements were still being thrown around in the three other duelling circles even as Harry dragged himself to his feet and headed back towards the class. Parvati was refusing to look at him, and many of the others were giving him funny looks, but Harry was getting used to that. He looked instead towards the groups of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students in the stands, wondering what they would make of his performance.

Harry and Moody had both known that Harry wouldn't follow through on his threat. Because even if his desire to fight people who could bend had evaporated along with his own bending, he still wasn't about to let Moody win. This was another challenge, though a strange and humiliating one, and Harry didn't want to back down.

He reached the class and looked up at Moody, who stood on his pedestal of rock, overseeing all. Moody had said that he would put Harry in half a dozen duels today, and even if he felt spent after just this first one, Harry still had every intention of winning at least one duel today.

* * *

He didn't.

Harry splashed cold water onto his face and rubbed the mud away. He then lifted a handful of clean water from the tap, swilled it around in his mouth, and spat red water back into the sink. The tunic of his duelling robes was soiled with water and earth and mud, and he stripped it off before taking a closer look in the bathroom mirror. He found that, considering how the day had gone, he didn't look as worse for wear as he'd thought he would. Fighting with Moody had changed him - thanks to Pomfrey's ministrations he hadn't been left with any marks, but his body was harder than it had been before.

_I'm becoming a real expert at taking beatings, aren't I?_

He knew that he should still head by the Hospital Wing, but instead of leaving the small bathroom he flipped a switch that plunged the room into darkness and then settled down cross-legged on the cold, clean tiles that made up the floor. He pulled his goggles off and sat in the dark, waiting as the noise level on the other side of the door went up and up until the sounds of a least a dozen boys changing, showering and shouting at one another could be heard.

The Gryffindor boys used to have to trek all the way up to Gryffindor tower after each Duelling Class, so they were quite eager to use the changing rooms that were part of the new stadium. Most of the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws tended to stick around as well, though the Slytherins all just trudged off towards their common room at the end of each lesson. Finnigan had made some joke about the fact that 'those snakes' were terrified because the Gryffindors had 'much larger snakes', but Harry thought that as waterbenders, the Slytherins probably had access to better facilities than these shiny shower faucets which all seemed incapable of producing anything other than freezing cold water.

Harry himself had simply ducked into one of the bathrooms before the changing room filled up, because he needed privacy for this, and just as a familiar tickling feeling at the back of his mind told him that his fire was starting to seep back, his attention was drawn to the conversation on the other side of the door. He'd tried to stop noticing when he heard others speak about him, but it was not easy.

"What do you mean, 'brilliant'?" It was an annoyed voice that he couldn't quite place. "He lost like five duels!"

_Six, but point taken..._

Harry had faced Parvati Patil, Michael Corner, Theodore Nott, Gregory Goyle, Mandy Brocklehurst and Ernie Macmillan, and the only 'victory' he could claim was that he was still able to stand up unaided at the end of class. His opponents had all been far from perfect - he'd seen a lot of things that he could have done if he'd had his fire - but everyone had gotten better under Moody's tutelage. Gone were the days of obvious openings, and Mandy Brocklehurst, who had been especially awful at the start of the year, took particular pleasure in blasting him from the circle with a well-aimed gust of wind.

Someone started laughing on the other side of the door, and the chatter and bustle of the changing room died down until that laugh was the only sound. It was that familiar, infuriating laugh that was always _at_ and never _with_. The impressive thing was that it always sounded so genuine.

"What's so funny, Weasley?"

"Just wondering if all Hufflepuffs are dense or if it's just you," Ron said, still chuckling. The decidedly frosty atmosphere that arose at this was palpable even from Harry's side of the door. "Do you all just see exactly what's in front of you, and nothing else?"

"What are you on about, Weasley?" That was a new voice - it sounded sceptical but not as hostile as the first.

"Michael!" Ron said, sounding delighted. "You Ravenclaws are supposed to be bright. Do you really think Harry lost against you?"

"He obviously lost on purpose, if that's what you're referring to." The voice Harry now recognized as Michael Corner said this with no small amount of annoyance. "And he succeeded in completely ruining the point of the exercise."

"Harry's not playing with us anymore," Ron said, exasperated."Why do you think we had an audience today? Did they come to see Ernie Macmillan and his amazing wafer-thin walls?"

"Watch it, Weasley..."

Harry gave a light snort of laughter as he realized that the first voice belonged to Ernie Macmillan. Harry had duelled Ernie last, and the Hufflepuff boy had obviously caught on to the fact that Harry wasn't doing any bending because he had built thin walls around Harry that any Gryffindor usually could have blasted through with ease. Harry had seen Macmillan smirk as he made high sharp shards rise up from the ground all around Harry.

But Harry's agility had not been taken from him, and he had scuttled up the inside of the structure, flinging himself over the top and landing on a horrified Ernie. He'd successfully wiped the smirk off the Hufflepuff boy's face, as the impact was rather painful for both of them and Harry had very nearly managed to pin Ernie down, thereby winning the duel. But Ernie was strong and in the end he'd gotten a hand loose and used it to pull a large amount of earth and rock towards them as they wrestled on the ground. They were covered in a pile which Macmillan was able to leave, using his bending to pop out like a cork from a bottle, leaving Harry trapped under the weight.

_Sounds like Macmillan's a bit sore about nearly losing to a non-bender..._

"Krum and Delacour and Cedric!" Ron announced. "They all came to spy. And Harry gave them all a big 'fuck you' for their trouble!"

Some indistinct murmurs came at this, speculating for a moment until MacMillan's angry voice cut in.

"He can mess about as much as he likes! He's still going to get obliterated five minutes into the first task!"

"Just you wait," Ron said, his voice full of hidden amusement. "You'll see."

* * *

Harry waited until all his fire had returned to him, and then he waited until he'd heard the last of the boys leave the locker-room, and finally he waited until another ten minutes of silence had passed, just in case.

But still, when he pulled his goggles back on and opened the door he found Ron Weasley in an otherwise deserted locker-room, sitting on a bench near the entrance to the showers. He wore his uniform shirt and trousers, hair still wet from his shower, and a book lay discarded by his side.

"You're not making this easy," Ron said.

"Why would I want to make anything easy for you?" Harry took a step towards the hooks near the exit, where he'd hung his own school uniform, but to his annoyance he found that all the hooks were empty.

_Should have taken them into the bathroom with me..._

Ron cleared his throat, and Harry looked over. Beside Ron on the bench were Harry's clothes, neatly stacked with his glasses on top.

"I hid them so they wouldn't realize you were still here," Ron said.

Harry took a single deep breath. The air was warm and moist and smelly. He walked across the room, towards Ron.

"I've been very patient, Harry."

"_You've_ been very patient?" Harry snatched up the pile of clothes and turned to move back towards the exit, thinking that he would change in the dorm.

_Like he won't follow you there, too?_

But Ron did not stand and follow, as he usually did. Instead, he spoke, and his words made Harry stop and turn in the middle of the room.

"You don't like me, do you? That's okay. I don't really like you either. You're a bit weird, and you're always sulking about something or other."

Ron's tone was so casual and conversational, and Harry didn't quite know how to react to it, except for one part.

"'Sulking'?" Harry repeated, incredulous.

"Yes," Ron said, warming up to the topic and pointing his finger as if Harry had managed to get to the core of it. "If I had to pick only one word to describe you it would be 'sulky'."

"And if I had to pick one word to describe you," Harry said, taking a single step back towards Ron, "it would be 'overconfident'. If I was being nice, that is..."

"Being nice can be difficult," Ron said, nodding, "but you need a friend, Harry. And you don't have to _like_ someone to be their friend."

"Yes, you do," Harry said. "I think you're thinking of 'ally', not friend."

"Same thing, really." Ron grinned. "You need me, Harry, even if you don't realize it. Public opinion is very shaky on you. It could really go either way, even in the Tower. But if you'd stop sulking we'd have a fair chance of snatching up some Ravenclaws, maybe even a Slytherin or two."

"It seems like it's difficult for you to understand this," Harry said, shaking his head., "but I don't care what people think about me. And the only reason you started talking to me was because you found out my dad knew the Auror Captain. And now, of course, you want the 'Gryffindor Champion' under your thumb. Not a great basis for a friendship."

"Both of those are more or less true," Ron conceded. "But I _really_ became interested in you when you burned down Phoenix Hall."

Ron Weasley had been the only one to notice when Harry was spending every night in the common room. So he may very well have noted that Harry didn't come in until very late on the night that Phoenix Hall burned... But what could he really have _seen_? That Harry had new robes afterwards?

_He doesn't know. He can suspect as much as he likes, but he doesn't know._

"What are you talking about?" Harry schooled his features. He knew that Ron was watching closely for a reaction.

Ron smiled at him, as he always did. "You're a shit liar, you know that?"

"Am I?"

"You didn't even blink - you went all still. No reaction can tell more than a large reaction, you know?"

_Watching when I should be doing, that's always my problem..._

"How's this for a large reaction?"

The wall behind Ron exploded in a spray of tile and dust and sparks. To his credit, Ron had been ready for it, and ducked away and shot to his feet, out of the path of the falling debris, keeping his eyes on Harry.

"You missed!" Ron said brightly, but Harry could see his eyes darting towards the door.

"I wasn't aiming for you," Harry said, backing until he was at the only exit. He turned and hung his clothes back on one of the hooks, slipping his glasses into a pocket.

"That's encouraging!" Ron said in a light and unusually high pitched tone.

Harry locked the door.

"Um..." Ron said.

Harry entered a duelling stance of his own devising - an attempt to be as light on his feet as an airbender without losing the strong core of firebending. Ron hesitated, though, so Harry flung another fireball, this time aiming at Ron's chest.

Ron's hands flew up and his forearms formed a cross to shield himself from the fire, but Ron was used to being the most powerful firebender in the room, and he should have thought twice before deciding to block rather than avoid. His bare feet skidded backwards on the tile floor as the force of the impact hit him. He managed to fling his arms apart, turning Harry's fireball into a rain of useless sparks, but he'd been pushed back so far that he was standing in the doorway to the showers, and he'd barely managed to stay upright. When the sparks were gone, and they were once again watching one another through the dust-filled air, Ron did not abandon his defensive stance.

"I don't want to fight you, Harry." He was not smiling.

"We don't always get what we want."

And then Harry advanced.

Ron sent a fireball, mostly to ward him off, but Harry spun around it, moving closer still. Ron backed into the showers and Harry sent a large mass of flame through the door before following. This time Ron split the stream, diverting the flame around him rather than trying to block it completely, and he was ready when Harry came into hand-to-hand range.

The fight turned into a flurry of kicks and punches, and Harry let his instincts take over, relishing the experience of trading blows with someone who was strong and quick enough to block his attacks. Harry stayed light on his feet, trying to use the wet floor to his advantage, while Ron stubbornly held a firm defensive stance. But playing defensive was not Ron's forte, and Harry soon managed to get a few good jabs in, striking Ron's arm and sending a sharp shoulder into his chest. After that, Ron did not hold back, but came at Harry in a storm of flailing limbs. When he slipped on the floor he used it to his advantage, turning his skids into unpredictable kicks.

Ron was a bit bigger and stronger than Harry, but Harry had spent weeks and weeks fighting Moody, who was _a lot_ bigger and stronger, and this time Harry had his fire. He moved back a little, keeping up his pattern of movement but rather than making contact he shot jets of flame with each strike. It was plain that it took Ron more effort to block his fire than his punches, and Ron soon called up his own flames, turning their battle into an exchange of fireballs.

There was nowhere to take cover - the shower hall was a wide, open area without stalls, its walls lined with stainless steel contraptions that spit water for twenty seconds when you hit a button, so they both stayed moving, backing into opposite ends of the hall and avoiding rather than blocking. Sparks and tile exploded from the walls all around them and when Harry swatted away one of Ron's fireballs that had come too close, it struck the wall and a jet of water shot out between the two of them, blasting from a burst pipe in one wall and striking the opposite wall, spattering them both with freezing water and putting a temporary lull in the battle.

"Shouldn't you be telling me that we'll get expelled?" Ron shouted over the rush of water. "Aren't you supposed to be the responsible one?"

"They're not going to expel me!" Harry called out in response, glancing at the floor, where the water wasn't draining away half as fast as it was being added by the broken pipe. If either of them had been a waterbender, the fight would have been over. "Not while I'm in this tournament!"

"Well, how nice for you!" Ron shouted. "But some of us don't have protection from the powers that be!"

"_Protection_!" Harry shouted, and he laughed. "You don't know anything. You think you're so clever - but you don't know anything!"

And the moment of stillness was over. Harry was about to move, but Ron was already casting a fireball, and Harry brought his hands up to defend. But the flame was not aimed at Harry - instead it shot upwards, and with a crash of exploding electrics, the room descended into darkness.

Harry backed away from where he'd been standing, blinking as his vision adjusted. There was some light from the changing room, but not much, and he couldn't make out much sound over the roar of water. Harry kept moving and shot a ball of fire at random, lighting the darkness in a flash for half a second. He caught movement nearby and sent several more fireballs in that direction, then slid underneath the jet of water to the other side of the room, separating them once again by the spray of water.

Or so he thought.

A flame sprung up all around Harry, and he was disoriented for a second as he tried to spot the source. But it wasn't another fireball; it was a stationary ring of fire that surrounded him, hovering in the air - a large and flawless continuous flame. In its light Harry could see that Ron was still on this side of the water, or he'd shot right back, predicting Harry's moves. Either way, he'd managed to trap Harry inside this circle, and he had his arms up, balancing the shape carefully.

_Not bad, Weasley..._

The circle started to shrink, closing in on Harry from all directions. The shape itself wasn't thick, and Harry could have ducked underneath it or jumped over it, but he had a feeling that Ron could quickly adjust it to block his path. Harry could have tried blasting his way through, but it niggled at him that Ron would be able to do this when Harry had struggled so in McGonagall's class.

So when the circle was just beyond arms length Harry stretched out his hands, palms open, keeping the fire from approaching any further. He looked straight at Ron and then he closed his hands in the air, clutching the fire. Harry saw the surprise in Ron's eye as he spun his arms, making Ron's circle spin and spin around him. Ron moved his hands swiftly through the air, trying to retake control of the flame, but before he could reaffirm his grip Harry cut his hand through the air, splitting the the circle as it spun.

No longer a circle, but a single long flame, it flailed wildly through the air like an out of control garden hose or a snake with its head cut off. It threw their shadows around and around the room, hissing as it struck the water, crackling as it scorched the walls, but Ron had put a lot of energy into the flame, and it wouldn't simply disperse. Ron backed away, watching warily, but Harry drew his hands inwards, pulling the flame closer again.

He spun his hands and the flame twisted and twirled around him until it found a balance. It was still a single continuous flame, but it was moving, coiling and spinning around him, changing its position in a constant slow twist. It slowed until it was spiralling its way gently around his body. He could feel it pulling at his flaming core, and the core pulling back.

If a firebender set something on fire it could burn until the fuel ran out, but a flame in the air would always go out if the firebender lowered his hands or stopped concentrating. Except... Harry lowered his arms and the flame did not go out. It was anchored to him, somehow.

_McGonagall was right._

The circle was not right for him. He should have attempted a spiral.

Ron was staring at him, wet red hair plastered down over his forehead. He did not look afraid, exactly. In fact, he was grinning.

_Let's change that..._

Water splashed into the air as Harry ran across the room. Ron's eyes widened, and for a second he looked about to flee across the jet of water to the other side of the room, but Harry cut him off, and then they were trading blows again.

Before, when Harry had thrown punches laced with fire, blocking the blow was the same as blocking the flame, but now Harry's spiral twisted and coiled around his arm, and Ron had to pick between blocking the fire and blocking the fist. The fire was more dangerous, so Ron did his best to keep it away, but even when he blocked it, the flame didn't disappear - it merely twisted into a different position, away from Ron but still twirling around Harry's arm.

Being struck once, twice, three times in the face was not easy to take, and as Harry's fist came in for a fourth strike, Ron's hand flew up and blocked the blow. Ron raised his other hand to hold back the fire, but it was too late - the flame spun its way up Harry's arm and struck Ron's forearm, setting fire to the white cloth of his shirt. Ron staggered backwards with a yelp of pain, frantically raising his hand to push the flame out of existence, but Harry pounced, toppling Ron over onto the floor with a splash.

Ron struggled as they plunged into darkness, all their fires extinguished, but Harry locked Ron's arm behind his back and sat on him, keeping his face pressed down in the water. He looked down at Ron, who was twisting himself every which way to get himself above the surface, and he could feel a coldness overtaking him. Ron's motions became panicked as he sputtered and twisted, making water splash and fly in all directions, but he was unable to get a single breath of air.

_This is what drowning looks like._

Harry slackened his grip, and Ron jolted his head out of the water, coughing violently. He squirmed, but did not try to get free.

"Looks like I'm a better fighter than you," Harry said, leaning down to talk over the rush and splash of water flying through the hall. "Doesn't that just break your heart?"

"Not really." The bastard managed to sound casual even as he was gasping for air.

"Really?" Harry tried to keep his voice steady but it came out vicious. "Not as sore a loser as you were in first year?"

"Look around you, Harry," Ron said, his voice hoarse. "There's no one here. This isn't even happening."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Harry asked, applying more pressure to his hold and making Ron shoot out a sharp, pained breath.

"This isn't happening," Ron sputtered, "just like you didn't burn down Phoenix Hall."

Harry paused. Then he leaned in close to Ron's ear.

"What if you're not as clever as you think you are?"

Ron shifted underneath him in a convulsion that would have been a laugh.

"What if I am?"

Harry held Ron down for another long moment. He wanted Ron to be furious; snarling wriggling to get free, but unable to do so. Instead Ron was still underneath him.

Harry stood up and stepped away.

Ron pulled himself up against the wall. He was sitting in a foot or so of water, but they were both sopping wet at this point, so it hardly mattered. Ron stayed down and breathed heavily as Harry squinted around in the darkness. He lit a flame in his hand and to his satisfaction he saw Ron flinch. He took a look around the room and found that it was completely wrecked. The few tiles that hadn't come loose from the walls were cracked or blackened by burn marks, and at least half the showers had been smashed apart one way or another.

Harry could feel himself smiling.

Ron whistled at the sight. "That'll cost a pretty penny."

"They can afford it," Harry said.

"Personally," Ron said, managing a grin, "I don't really see the point in fighting if there's no audience."

"How about breaking someone's teeth in?"

Ron stopped grinning.

After taking a deep breath, Ron dragged himself to his feet and lumbered over to where part of the wall had been blown away and water was shooting out. He reached in with his uninjured arm and twisted a valve until the loud jet of water shooting across the room became a quiet trickle. The silence rang in Harry's ears. Ron proceeded to clean his burn in the trickle, hissing at the touch of freezing water.

"Yes," Ron said, without turning back to Harry, "at first I wanted to be your friend to have a connection to Crouch. But here's a secret: I hate all Aurors. Every last one of them. More than you hate me, I bet. We both gotta look past these things, Harry."

The vehemence in Ron's voice caught Harry by surprise. For once, Weasley wasn't making a joke - instead he sounded quiet, tired and angry. It made Harry wonder what it was like to grow up in Catchpole. The Aurors were always very polite in Diagon, but Harry knew that they were not the same elsewhere.

_And if I really hated you I would have held you under the water just a little bit longer._

Ron Weasley was an annoyance and a bully, but he was no Crouch.

Harry glanced around the room again. They were deep inside the stadium. No one outside would have heard, and because Harry knew when every year took Duelling Class, he knew that no one would be here for a good long while. Still, there was no point in lingering. He tried to think of something to say, but for once he'd let his actions speak for him, and so he simply left the showers, heading into the changing room where the lone wall that Harry had wrecked looked oddly more real than the entire ruined shower hall.

Harry looked down at himself and was glad he hadn't had time to change into his school uniform. His duelling robes had become heavy with water but they were made of tough stuff, and unlike Ron's shirt they hadn't been ruined to the point where people would ask questions. He pulled a towel from a locker and stripped down to his underwear, folding his dark shirt and trousers up neatly before starting to dry his hair.

Ron came into the changing room, water pouring off him onto the floor, just as Harry pulled on his uniform trousers. "I wasn't trying to blackmail you about Phoenix Hall," he said. "That's not a great way to start a friendship."

"Following me around does not make us friends," Harry said, snatching his shirt off the hook by the door.

"I figured you might be attacked," Ron said. "Not everyone is too keen on a little kid stealing the spotlight from Diggory."

Harry gritted his teeth. "If you hadn't noticed," he said pointedly, "I can take care of myself."

Ron snorted half a laugh. "Yes, but two people are less likely to be attacked than one. I was trying to avoid the fight itself."

"Well," Harry said, buttoning his shirt up with care, "look where that got us."

Harry finally pulled his goggles off and replaced them with his glasses, and everything became a cold white rather than a light green. He slipped his shoes on and picked up his wet pile of duelling robes, then turned for a final word.

"If you tell anyone at all," he said, "I will make you regret it."

It was clear that they both believed the threat. That felt good.

"I won't," Ron said. His voice was void of its usual joking manner - he sounded tired and beaten down, and that felt good too. "I want us to be friends."

Harry had meant to leave, but Ron's statement was so preposterous that he found himself saying: "And yet you keep talking to Hermione!"

"Well, yes," Ron said, sounding genuinely confused that those words should be said as an accusation. "I want to be her friend too."

"Have you forgotten about first year?" Harry said, feeling the anger from before rising up again.

"First year?" Ron said, in mild surprise. "I thought you were still grumpy about _last year_."

Harry thought back to his rather humiliating defeat at Ron's hands in the Duelling Championship, over a year ago. "I'm not like you," he said. "I don't care about 'winning'."

Ron snorted. "Everyone wants to win - we're just playing different games..." Ron's eyes darted towards the ceiling for a moment. "So, first year, huh? Wasn't that the year that you beat _me_ up?

"Because you wouldn't stop picking on Hermione!"

"Right," Ron said, and he grew slightly more sombre. He did not seem to have forgotten, at least. "You know why I did that, don't you?"

_Because you're a twat?_

"It's the clever ones you have to look out for," Ron said, wistfully, glancing down and then back up at Harry, "and the powerful ones... Shut them out, shut them down. That was corner mentality. That was stupid."

"Are you actually admitting a mistake?" Harry asked in mock amazement. "I don't think I've ever heard you do that."

"I was thinking too small," Ron admitted, "seeing enemies where I should have been seeing allies. I was doing a 'Harry Potter', if you will."

"Stuff like that doesn't just go away."

"I'm right here," Ron said, spreading his arms wide. "Ready to make things right."

He had an unusually blank expression on his face as he watched Harry. A line of blood was making its way down from his nose, and if he didn't get to Pomfrey soon he'd be getting a black eye or two. The right arm of his shirt had gone up in flames, and Harry could see that the burn he'd given Ron was likely to leave a mark. There was already a patchwork of minor burns running up and down the arm. Harry sighed.

"I don't need you," Harry said, "or your help, or your friendship. So why don't you keep your mouth shut, and leave me and Hermione alone?"

Harry walked towards the door.

"I'll tell you what the first task is."

Harry stopped. He turned and looked back at Ron.

"And how on earth would you know about it?"

"Maybe I'm as clever as I think I am?" Ron said this in a light tone, but when Harry snorted and made to turn away again, he hastened to add: "_Maybe_ I've got a lot of friends. And - hey - friends tell each other things, Harry!"

"Didn't you just say that you weren't going to blackmail me?"

"This isn't blackmail," Ron said, sounding mildly affronted, "this is bargaining!"

"What if I don't care about winning this tournament?" Harry asked.

"What if you want to show them all that you're not just a kid?"

Harry gave Ron a dark look.

_He is far, far too observant..._

Ron made an exasperated sound. "I just want you to let me help you! Maybe listen to my ideas, shake some hands, that sort of thing... Oh, and you don't have to win, but make sure you don't come in last in the tournament."

"Why," Harry asked, a mix of anger and confusion and resignation swirling around inside him, "would you even want to help me in the first place?"

"I want to bend lightning one day. Remember what McGonagall said? You can't have power without control." He gestured at Harry, and then at himself. "You and me could bend lightning."

"A fancy way of saying that you want to control me," Harry said.

"No," Ron said, patiently. "It's a fancy way of saying that the two of us could do some really interesting things with this school." There was a strange gleam in his eye. "Besides," Ron added, his tone light again, "what am I gonna do - cheer for a Hufflepuff?"

"What exactly would I have to do," Harry asked, "to meet your requirements for 'friendship'?"

"You could maybe sulk a little less," Ron suggested.

"Will you be less arrogant, then?"

"I doubt it," Ron said, shrugging. "Look, just shake my hand, and I'll tell you what the task is. One step at a time, see?"

Ron held out his hand.

Harry looked into Ron's eyes, and tried to see something more than the shallow hot-headed bully that he'd known for years. "You know what the first task is?"

"I swear it," Ron said, brightly, "or you can beat me up all over again, and I won't even fight back!"

_That would take the fun out of it..._

After another moment of hesitation, Harry took the hand and shook. Both of them had delivered a fair few punches during the fight, and so shaking was mildly painful for both of them, but Ron did not try to squash Harry's hand, as Harry had irrationally half-expected. Instead it was simply firm handshake; the kind that will trick you into trusting someone.

Ron made to pull away, but Harry held onto the hand.

"Stop crowding me and Hermione all the time. We need time away from you people."

Ron tried to wiggle his eyebrows in response to this, but the action caused him to wince in pain. "Fine," he said, and made to pull his hand away again.

"And no buttons," Harry said, still not letting go. "They're tacky."

"Done," Ron said, and reclaimed his hand. "Anything else?"

"You could go pull Lavender into a broom cupboard so she stops trying to make you jealous."

"Hey! I'll throw that one in for free, mate." Ron laughed. "So that's it - we're friends now, whether you like it or not. Okay, Harry?"

"Okay, Won-Won."

Ron froze. "Where did you hear that name?"

"Around."

"Around. Yes." Ron nodded thoughtfully. "You realize, of course, that I now have to kill you."'

"Why don't you give me your best shot?" Harry asked.

Ron laughed and Harry wanted to be annoyed that his threat was being laughed off, but instead he found himself suppressing a smirk.

"McGonagall took ten points for me throwing a single fireball at you," Harry said, peering over Ron's shoulder, back towards the shower hall. "We should probably go. But first - what's the task?"

"I'll give you a hint," Ron said. "What animal was in Phoenix Hall? You know, before you torched the place?"

* * *

**Author's Note**

**Next chapter will be the first task. I promise.  
**

**Thank you for reading. Reviews are appreciated.**

**- The Sorting Cat**


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